The Darkest Paths
by Saul Good
Summary: The story is ten years after the fall of Sunnydale. The New Watchers Council is well established and expanding, with the Scoobies leading newly appointed watchers, witches and slayers into the fight. Uses cannon only up to the finales of both B:tVS and A:tS
1. Chapter 1

Time Frame: A decade after both BtVS & AtS finales.

Rating: T-Mature (cuz Faith still curses like a sailor)

This story contains several gay relationships, consider yourselves forewarned.

Pairings: as of the moment, only B/F, D/X and Wes/Ill are planned. More may eventually follow.

Final Note: This is my first fan-fic, reviews, beta reads and constructive criticism are all welcome.

Legalities: All B:TVS characters are that of the Mighty Whedon and his glorious intellect. This work is meant only in celebration and nothing ulterior.

* * *

Chapter 1

The roof of the old abandoned warehouse rustled as the summer wind swept through it. Two pairs of still forms crouched besides the perimeter of a cracked skylight, the last in a row of mostly broken fixtures. In the darkness of night they seemed to be shadows, but when cloud cover would break, the moonlight revealed feminine figures tying rappelling ropes to harness and winches. They were all well armed; various knives and swords were strapped all over their bodies, two of them had large silver pistols in holsters all of them had crossbows on their backs. Black combat boots, leather gloves and balaclavas furthered their quasi militaristic look.

Two of them carefully opened the skylight allowing the other pair to use their ropes and by turn, jump into blackened space and silently the last two followed in suit. The quiet in the semi-darkness below was pierced by raucous laughter from one side of the abandoned warehouse. In a solitary corner a large area was cleared out to make a sort of living space, complete with torn dirty couches surrounding a flimsy coffee table over an expansive but tattered floor rug. Small table lamps powered from some unknown source lit the corner up in a yellowish glow.

The couches and the spaces besides them were occupied by a group of a dozen and a half people with very little uniformity in their dress or appearance, though all were laughing and jeering at a young man, who was sat in the center of one of the couches. He was wearing a pizza delivery uniform and was openly weeping to the entertainment of the rest of the group.

"What are you cryin' about kid? You scared or somethin'?" The one closest to the crying boy asked playfully, she was a woman dressed a leather jacket and tight jeans. Two others sat besides the pizza-guy holding him in place ensuring he sat in place.

"We'll tip you really good for the pizza, so you should be happy." The space erupted in laughter as the woman's face contorted into an inhuman mask of bright yellow eyes and jagged teeth, which caused the young man to rear back in terror and revulsion. She lunged at him but promptly turned to dust as a crossbow bolt pierced her heart, causing a cloud of the vampire remnants to hit those on the couch in the face.

Before anyone could exclaim, three more bolts flew through the air dusting the two holding the pizza-guy captive and another closest to him. The rest of the vampires yelled panicked warnings and ducked behind couches or whatever other cover they could find. The pizza guy, now free, cowered in place and watched as two masked girls came running out from the shadows, swords in their gloved hands. They began slicing into the nearest group, whose faces had changed into their true monstrous forms. The more aggressive of the two girls had a large pistol holstered to her.

Seeing that there were being attacked by only two short girls, the rest of the vampires all switched faces and began to charge out from their cover towards the girls who had already dispatched three more of their group. But from behind them another pair of bolts sailed out of the darkness killing their targets. A moment after a second duo of sword wielding masked girls silently flew in to the fray swinging, dispatching a pair of vampires before the monsters had even realized they were flanked. One of girls also had a pistol. The four girls worked in unison decapitating their foes silently, turning them into dust piles at their feet.

The pizza-guy was open-mouthed and wordless as he watched the small figures flitting about their targets. The vampires groaned and shrieked as they died and the girls never made more than a grunt. Their arms would swing and vampire heads would roll off their bodies but would disintegrate before even hitting the floor. One of the girls was tugged backwards by a vampire that had made its way behind her. It was promptly beheaded by her squad-mate but another vampire slashed out and connected with the girl while she was off balance. Knocking her to the ground, the vampire used the moment to disengage the fight and took off towards a dimly lit exit behind.

"Runner!" The girl on the ground barked with a hard but young voice. Two throwing knives spun through the air, a loud agonized grunt and the sound a body falling hard to the floor let the throwers know their target was hit. Her squad had not needed to speak up until that moment.

The struck girl saw that the rest of the team was more than handling the dwindling melee. She got up ignoring the pain in her side and carefully walked to the direction the vampire fled. Cradling her ribs with one hand and holding her sword before her in the other, she winced with each step.

She heard the metallic rustling sounds of vampires dying behind her and began shouting out orders to the girls behind her. "Denise, check the kid. The rest of you, secure the area and report back to me." And then from deep in the shadows of where she approached, the last of her enemies lunged. She sensed it coming even before she saw it. Rage and snarls were abruptly ended as the girl's blade flickered out and neatly cut through the vampire's neck and shoulder diagonally. Another dust pile fell to the cold concrete before the severed body parts touched ground.

Holding her blade out, she stood waiting a moment in front of the deep shadow. Satisfied, she sheathed her sword and stepped back but her dark brown eyes never left the darkness. She checked her pistol as she quickstepped back to where a single lamp had survived their assault. There the glow hit an unmasked Denise was was trying to calm down the distressed and blubbering pizza delivery boy.

"Hey, it's done now. You want us to get you to your wheels?. Were pretty sure it's safe for now but you never know if more of those things are gonna come around later." Denise assured him.

"There are more?!" The boy murmured in disbelief. The boy looked more shaken turning to Denise's soft round face.

"There's always more." the injured girl announced as she stepped besides Denise. She was immediately addressed.

"How're your ribs?" Denise gave the gloved hand clutching over chainmail under a torn gym shirt a nod.

"Been hit harder." A grimace accompanied the reply as the injured girl rolled her balaclava up so it looked like a cap on her head. Her ethnicity was hard to judge, her angular features and almond shaped piercing dark brown eyes allowed people to make many wrong assumptions of her background. Straight jet-black hair peeked out from under the makeshift hat. Ignoring the still sniveling young-man she whipped out a smart phone and began rubbing and jabbing at the screen with her thumb.

"How many was that, like, fifteen? Wes wants a head count." she asked professionally. Denise chuckled at the inadvertent joke that was made and got a hard look from the injured girl.

"Cuz they didn't have any when we got done with them! Come on, Gina! That was a good one, you should laugh!" Denise stated cheerily helping up the solitary male in the building but still looking at the now named girl.

"Ha. Ha. Ha." Gina conceded dryly, her eyes never leaving the smart-phone screen. A text was sent and she finally gave her squad-mate and the former walking meal some of her attention. He was maybe eighteenish, tall and maybe about to wet him-self, she was a little impressed he hadn't already. Gina looked over her would-be damsel.

He wasn't the worst she'd ever seen though his previous weeping kept him far from being the best. The dude-in-distress was almost cleared eyed now and his sniffling had gone a moment before. He tried to hide his attempt at casually wiping away the snot on his face but failed as Gina saw and frowned. A cheap hat with his company logo sat firmly on his head, he seemed as though he could walk on his own at least.

"Where's your car?" Gina asked him.

"At the front." he replied with a ragged breath. Gina ignored his distress and went back to texting. Denise started collecting fallen cross bolts and almost finished when two of her squad came out silently from the shadows besides Gina, one of them had a heavy silver pistol drawn while the other held her crossbow at the ready. Seeing their weapons out, the unarmed girls reactively began loading their own crossbows and kept them at the ready. The girl with the gun drawn spoke as her eyes scanned the shadows.

"There's one more, almost got the drop on me, had to pull my piece." She reported evenly but with a hint of annoyance in her tone.

"That's why we got 'em, Lynn." Gina replied absently as she looked to the last girl, who looked the youngest of the four. "Jessie!" Gina called to her crisply. A olive-skinned girl with thick curly hair jutting out from out of its cover snapped to an attention looking expectantly to Gina.

"Yah?" the youngest of the girl answered nervously. This was only her third time out with and wasn't yet sure how she yet fit in with her new squad.

"You wanna go hunting?" Gina asked quirking her brow. Jessie looked like a game show contestant winner at the question. She squealed in delight and began bouncing on her heels in excitement. Her knives, gear-belt and sword bounced with her.

"Oh my god, you're serious? Really, I can go? It's cool with you?" the now energetic teenage girl babbled to her squad-leader. With an exasperated nod from Gina, Jessie went wide eyed and covered her mouth to suppress another high-pitched squeal. She revealed her face to give herself a tiny fluttering self applause, showing how pleased she was still.

The pizza-guy screwed his face in confusion. "You're going after it alone?" he stammered. These girls, they couldn't have been older than he was, but it they acted as though they had just finished folding clothes and not killing monsters by cutting their heads off. His mind seemed scattered at the notion of chasing those things by yourself, let alone monsters existing in the first place.

"Nah, it's gonna be a party!" Jessie answered cheerily as she almost frolicked away to hunt her natural enemy. Gina gave Denise and Lynn a look and they followed their youngest squad-mate into the darkness.

"What's rule number one, ladies?" Gina barked out as they disappeared.

"Don't die!" they chorused unseen from the shadows.

"Let's get you to your car, kid." Gina commanded after a moment in silence. They all seemed so young to her lately though he couldn't have been more than a year younger than her. He nodded and let her lead him out to the front of the old warehouse. Gina whipped out her smartphone and began thumbing at it as soon summer night touched their skins.

Up high, the moons glow was dimmed by a cloud but the phone's screen gave Gina's face an eerie glow in the dark around them. As they approached a chain link fence near the street, the girl ignored her rescued hostage as he hung back behind her. She put the receiver to her mouth and began talking.

"Hey Wes, all's clear. I sent the girls to hunt for stragglers and clean up." She paused and listened to the unheard side of the conversation. From afar, crosshairs steadied themselves over Gina's head as she nodded. The hovering crosshairs switched over to the figure behind the girl on the phone. The pizza-boy threw his head back as if in pain. He then hunched over silently as his hands and shoulders bulged while the bones beneath them swelled and stretched. What was once a young man was replaced by a lumpish nightmare of sharp claws for fingers and a mouth stretching down its neck. A slimy forked tongue swiveled out from the open maw above the torso.

"Nah, hold off. We're gonna do it ourselves, just for quality-of-life's sake." Gina declared. The monster had yet to make a sound that could be heard over Gina's talking. Graying skin hung loosely from its forearms an upper chest, as it leaped at Gina's back the flaps writhed. Its claws were cocked back ready to slice through her neck. In the dark there was a sound like wind through leaves in the fall. Flesh was pierced, a strangled shriek echoed into the night and the clouds cleared way for the moon.

"The only ones who think I'm alone" Gina snorted into the phone, "are you and the thing behind me." Her Colt .45 was drawn before she had even completed her spin. The pistol was pointed down at the monster that was once a pizza-guy. Her three squad-mates had the miserable creature impaled to the ground while blades and a gun barrel shimmered in the glow of the moonlight. Swords and dagger pinned the writhing mess's limbs down but its tongue flailed about uselessly. Gina trained her Colt on it as a precaution.

Keeping the thing down took effort; Denise and Lynn grunted at the struggle. A single one of them alone against one of these would be real trouble, but despite the seriousness of the circumstance Jessie's face was of someone who was very pleased with her work having helped incapacitate this thing that would have shredded Gina. Jessie caught an expectant look from Gina as the younger girl looked over her shoulder. Jessie grinned and gave her squad-leader a firm thumbs-up.

Gina returned to her phone conversation and put up a return-thumbs-up over her head in confirmation. "Yah, toldja we got it. Can you get over here already so we…" her words were interrupted by footfalls heard close by.

Gina looked up from the gun-sights to see a slim bespectacled man in his forties wearing rumpled white button-down under a black tweed jacket, khaki slacks and old black boots running towards her. A gray tie was tucked into his shirt. From his belly to his knees he was covered in thin film of black soot. He looked like he was lying on his stomach on a very dirty surface. He almost looked like an office worker or an academic heading home from a long day of paper shuffling, except for the long pink scar lining the left side of his throat and the pair of Colt Defenders bulging out from his jacket, which gave an hard edge to his appearance.

He appraised the situation before him and was repulsed by the gray-skinned nightmare skewered by three girls. "Yee-gads! That thing is ugly!" He exclaimed in genuine disgust while adjusting his glasses

"So, what do you think, Wesley?" Gina inquired to the newly arrived man as she lowered her heavy six-shot pistol, flicking the safety on with her thumb.

"Jokes about ex-girlfriends are the only thing that comes to mind, really." he commented sardonically in a very proper London accent. From his back pocket he produced a slim phone and began tapping at it while he continued to grimace. He kept an eye on the other three girls keeping the twisted creature down as he sent his communiqué.

"Eighteen vamps and a freaky unknown demon, is that like a record?" she inquired hopefully while ignoring the disgusted Englishman's casual humor.

Jessie yelled an answered Gina from over the hissing monster. "No, at The Last Battle of The Sunnydale Hellmouth, Buffy, Faith, Spike and a group of newly activated slayers held back thousands of Turak-han before Spike exploded, caving-in a whole town." She struggled to keep her dagger in the creatures back but maintained her youthful enthusiasm, answered her.

"Fifty points for Hufflepuff!" Wesley stated loudly confirming the girl's textbook answer and finished sending the text. Jessie beamed, happy that her superior knew which Harry Potter house was her favorite. Sure everyone wanted to be Gryffindor but Jessie was a firm believer in dependability.

"I sent a text to the coven," the Englishman continued, "they should be sending a local witch to help with cleanup." Wesley explained. A nest of eighteen vampires and a currently unidentified demon, which was the snare to for an unsuccessful trap, and Wesley's girls didn't have more than a bruise on them to show for it, despite having a trainee in the mix. To say the watcher was proud of his slayers was an understatement.

Gina furrowed her eyebrows as she listened to her watcher. She recapped the events of the night and her observations began to confirm facts. Correlated details began grouping themselves together in her mind. What happened, had happened before to two other Cleveland-based squads, and three stopped being coincidence, three was a pattern. The first time it happened, almost a year ago, a slayer was almost torn to shreds and her watcher did not survive the ordeal. While maintaining an air of grim professionalism, she turned to Englishman and spoke in a hushed tone.

"Who do you thinks trying to set up traps for slayers, Wes?" the slayer asked her watcher quietly.

Wesley stayed quiet a moment, his eyes fixed on the grayish nightmare his slayer-squad had pinned to the ground with their blades. "Who wants to hurt us?" he thought and the number of things that fit that requirement made a staggeringly long list. So many demons and even some people wanted slayers and their watchers dead that he couldn't nearly recite them all if he had wanted.

"The enemy." Wesley answered simply as though it should have been obvious to his senior most slayer. Gina only frowned deeply at her watcher's non-answer.


	2. Chapter 2

Time Frame: A decade after both BtVS & AtS finales.

Rating: T-Mature (cuz Faith still curses like a sailor)

This story contains several gay relationships, consider yourselves forewarned.

Pairings: as of the moment, only B/F, D/X and Wes/Ill are planned. More may eventually follow.

Final Note: This is my first fan-fic, reviews, beta reads and constructive criticism are all welcome.

Legalities: All B:TVS characters are that of the Mighty Whedon and his glorious intellect. This work is meant only in celebration and nothing ulterior.

* * *

Chapter 2

The sounds of foot falls on wood flooring echoed through the empty manor, the contrast of soft scuffing of formal men's shoes and the distinct clop of high heels was mixed in with conversation between two people. A tall woman with bottle-blond hair stood with perfect posture. Her brightly colored casual business clothes and expensive shoes marked her as the realtor for the old building. She stood in a large sunlit foyer, leather carryall slung at her side smartly, helping reinforce the aura of efficiency she emanated.

She stood across from an older man polishing eyeglasses and squinting as he gave the wooden staircase leading up a very close inspection. He ran his hands up the railing feeling the polish and muttered something the realtor didn't catch. He was like this since she began working with him and his company. He was always thinking out loud or becoming incredibly engrossed with the odd details of the listings she provided him.

Aside from the standard rundown of facts, he had asked some very strange things, questions like 'How many cemeteries are nearby?' or 'What is the cult history in the area?' His money was more than enough for her to overlook any weirdness and the simple fact of his interest in the property showed how much of it he had.

Mr. Giles dressed and spoke like a museum curator or a history professor. Graying brown hair, a light tweed jacket buttoned over a red silk tie and white shirt, khaki slacks and brown penny-loafers were worn so exactly it impressed Wendy's own very high standards on things. His English accent was the perfect cherry for her assumption cake. And while generally soft spoken and polite in his mannerisms, there was an unmistakable hardness that he conveyed when he felt he needed to be taken seriously.

"Mister Giles?" the realtor interrupted his musings. He looked up realizing he was muttering to himself again. A look of slight embarrassment crossed his face as he answered, "_Acer pseudoplatanus._" he replied dismissively. He looked down at his freshly polished eyeglasses nodding as though he had answered everything the realtor was asking about. He looked up again seeing the continued questioning look on the woman's face. Another realization dawned on him as the previous embarrassment returned more intensely.

"I do apologize, Misses Carlisle. Details do tend to distract." he said formally with an apologetic smile. The realtor smiled back as she continued listening to the man give yet another mini-lecture, patience was a skill best learned when dealing with moneyed people, which this man was.

"The wood used for the hallway flooring and these stairs is sycamore maple. It is found in many parts of the world and is considered one of the more durable of woods and will withstand nicely for what I can assume will be some heavy traffic and wear. A detail which I am sure our Mr. Harris would laud." Giles looked up in thought catching a stray sunbeam on his face.

Not for the first time the realtor noticed a long scar on his forehead, it ran down from his hair line to a little bit above his right eye. That, coupled with a tattoo that peeked out his left sleeve and ended just above his wrist on to the bottom of his palm, gave conflicting details on her analysis of the Englishman before her.

Maybe life as a misspent youth but more likely something mundane, like a mid life crisis and a case of books falling down on him. Whatever the case, his past was unimportant compared to the commission he symbolized to her. And with more pros mentioned than cons during their tour she deduced that he was happy with the manor so far, it was the perfect time to close this deal. She inwardly mustered her resolve and began her final pitch with a smile.

"Well Mr. Giles, I do have one final thing I need to mention." Returning from his thoughts and giving his realtor an appraising look, Giles nodded as signaling she had his full attention. Wendy was about to begin but was interrupted by a loud slamming of a door from the floor above them accompanied by an even louder feminine voice yelling his Giles's name.

"Fuck! YO RIPPPAH!" came from up the stairs a second time but closer and in a loud abominable mix of Boston drawl and cockney English. Giles rolled his eyes, a mix of recognition and exasperation crossing his face. He raised his voice impatiently and answered loud enough for the person upstairs to hear.

"Down here, Faith. We are down here!" The burning smell of cigarette smoke wafted down the stairs and the figure at the top of them cursed at seeing the realtor. She was about five and half feet tall and looked like she was in her mid-twenties.

She sported a denim button-down with sleeves rolled up; the top buttons were left undone showing a red tank-top beneath. Her black heavy cargo-pants were muddy at the calves and her feet were covered only in thick hiking socks. From head to calf, debris peppered her clothes though only her scowling and swearing diminished her pretty doe-eyed face.

An "Oh, shit!" was followed by her hastily pinching the embers on the lit cigarette and stuffing it into her shirt pocket as she made her way down the wooden steps. Her guilty smirk was accompanied by a dirty hand held out in greeting to the nicely dressed woman.

"How ya doin'? Sorry for comin' in unannounced and all." Faith said, an apology still on her face. The realtor looked at the extended arm and saw a tattoo of an ornate eye that resembled the visible portion the Englishman had, Wendy proffered her hand was given a strong shake.

"Wendy Carlisle, this is our Head of Security, Faith Lehane. Faith, Wendy." Giles recognized the lack of hesitation in Wendy's as she shook Faith's dirty hand. He appreciated that she maintained civility despite Faith's halfhearted politeness. With introductions made the younger woman turned to the Englishman and said, "Didja buy this place already or do I gotta say sorry for the cigarette too?" Giles frowned at Faith's brusque speech.

"I was about to mention to Mrs. Carlisle here that I wanted to wait for your assessment before I came to a decision." The Englishman addressed his security chief.

Wendy reprimanded herself in her mind, "_A security expert doing personal on-grounds inspection? I should have expected this!_" Of course she should have, these people were the most thorough clients she had ever dealt with, as well the richest. She steeled herself and went over ever fact she had absorbed and filed through as per their specific yet very unorthodox requests.

They had hired her agency only because someone high up in his company had used her agency to find a house in a Cleveland suburb several years ago. Before Mr. Giles came calling they had never had a customer this high end. Frankly she was just almost out of her depth in some of the demands they made, the amount of research she had to do about the area in the last month nearly shattered her world.

"Harris might wanna look over the roof; I found some severe cracking by the chimneys. Second floor windows are big, pretty as hell but any bozo could get through 'em with a rock and a ladder. Walls running the inside perimeters ain't nothin' like what we got in Scotland, but this place ain't no castle."

"_She climbed the roof too? I didn't hear anything!_" Wendy thought in disbelief as she listened intently and readied herself to defend her listing.

Giles nodded as he pulled a handkerchief from inside his jacket and offered it to Wendy, who accepted it graciously. She frowned inwardly at the details the dark haired woman listed as she wiped off the ash stains on her hands.

"It ain't the worst though. We got a lot of good things to build on." Faith shrugged indicating she was done with her perimeter report. Giles nodded processing the specifics Faith was giving him.

"And the outlying areas?" he inquired as he compulsively polished his glasses with the returned handkerchief.

_"She reconed the whole damn thing?"_ Wendy's mind began checking over researched details of her biggest cash-cow realtor began calculating the acres on her listing; it was easily two square miles of forest.

"It is crazy acreage! The lake is clean and from where I've been so far the trees are pretty healthy." The security chief kept rattling off her report. "There's a big-ish creek running south through most of the eastern side. It's got a washed out bridge but that's an easy fix. I found tracks for game, nothin' bigger than deer though, and maybe a small wolf pack padding around but they won't bother us." She smiled broadly as she spoke, Faith was clearly pleased. "And I climbed, like, the tallest tree ever. The view from the top was wicked pretty, G." Her childish tone belied her impressive title.

"Which would explain the splinters all over your clothing and missing shoes." Giles surmised looking over his associate.

Faith inspected what she was wearing, she had been walking the grounds since the early hours of the morning, and after trudging through nearly two miles worth of woodland and one oak tree climbed she was a fairly soiled sight. She grinned brightly at the older man and ran her left hand through her dark brown hair, a wedding band slightly shining in the light.

"Hey! Security Chief here," she declared proudly," as she pointed her thumbs at herself "you wanna fashion chief? Go talk to the little missus." The Englishman chuckled softly at her mock offense. Faith then surrendered her playful tone to a more professional one, "Yah, but we might have, like, a thing."

The last word was left hanging as though for emphasis and the two exchanged looks Wendy couldn't interpret. Giles sighed and looked to the blond realtor besides them. "Mrs. Carlisle if you could allow me and my associate a few moments in private?"

Wendy's brain switched into over drive. "Witches!" the blond exclaimed as Giles jumped a litte at her outburst. "There was a coven of witches that lived around the property a little before the turn of the century. What you found, was it something to do with witches?" She asked looking at the older man and his nodding associate

"Yah, that's what's in line with what I saw. There was some mojo workin' around it, gave me a creepy "keep-out" kinda vibe. Nothin' murderous but its strong enough to make sure most people would steer clear." Faith reported.

Giles locked eyes with Wendy, "We were specific about occult activities in the area, Mrs. Carlisle. Wiccan ritualism clearly falls within that specification." his eyes turned hard and Wendy stood rigid against the inferred accusation.

Her agency had already almost lost these clients after a coworker made derogatory comments about gay-marriage in front of their lesbian Lead-IT. But his company was one of second chances, she was told by Mr. Giles and she was afraid that this mistake was their last chance going out the window. Behind the now looming Englishman, Faith scowled. Though Wendy was steadfast to any criticism coming her way, the younger woman spoke up sparing Wendy from having to defend herself or her agency.

"Yo, G! Give the lady a break, it was like a century ago and I doubt that anyone's been around there for like, half that. You should be givin' her cred just for rememberin' that shit in the first place." she tilted her head to Wendy, "Aside from that one thing; I say she did good findin' us this place." Giles turned from his scowling head of security to his realtor and his face softened after processing Faith's criticism of his reaction and praise of the manor.

"I apologize for that, Mrs. Carlisle. I am used to treating minutia with deadly seriousness, and Faith is right. I commend your ability to retain a one hundred year old detail." he spoke sincerely to the blond who had visibly relaxed.

"And unless there are any other surprise details," a cell phone buzzed audibly in his tweed jacket pocket, "I believe we will purchase the property." He took the cell phone out and glanced at the received text message. He looked up to his head of security and gave her a small nod and another indecipherable look passed between them.

"Mrs. Carlisle, Faith, a situation needs to be handled personally. Faith can handle the rest of the details or put you in contact with someone who can." he said as he put away his cellular phone and donned his very well polished glasses.

He gave them both a farewell and left hurriedly through the front door behind them. The sounds of a car engine starting and then driving off quietly dying away, Wendy and Faith were left in an awkward silence. The blond realtor began leafing through paperwork in her leather carryall that hung at her side and Faith took out her phone from its belt holster and began checking for texts.

Nothing was received from the Council's group message app, or anything from the Scoobbies private group chat. She wondered what the emergency was for a moment but the sound of a throat clearing brought her back to the business at hand. Wendy held a pen in her hand and a half inch stack of papers in the others, Faith glanced at both reproachfully.

"Uh, listen," Faith began nervously, "maybe you could, like, call our money guys for that. Despite G's confidence, I'm pretty sure I'd fuck that up if you left it to me." The pleading look she gave Wendy was met with a frown.

"Your accounting department can be..." Wendy trailed. Her accounting department was terrified of their client's own. Two of her coworkers had dealt with them and their communications with her client's money-people had left her people in tears. Another had thrown his cell-phone out his window in frustration.

"A bunch of evil bastards?" Faith finished for her, their finance people were ruthless at best and downright murderous at worst. "Yeah, those guys are demons from some hell dimension." she affirmed with a sad face.

A grave nod from Wendy was replied with a sigh from Faith as she began dialing numbers on the cell phone in her hand and putting it up to her ear. "I'll give 'em a ring, see if I can't...Hey Dawnie! What are you doin' there? I thought you were still in Rome doin' the ancient texts thing. Yah? So you're, like, the guy for the money stuff now?" Wendy listened to half of the conversation, Faith's tone was light and airy, as though she was dealing with a close friend rather than a coworker, though the informal speech seemed to be standard amongst all of Mr. Giles' upper staff.

The young woman paced a bit as she listened to the audible but unintelligible voice on the line, "Yo, but check it, were buyin' the new Cleveland place. Shit's up to snuff and we just need paper work to close the whole deal. The prob is that G took off for somethin' and left me to clean up and..." a pause and Faith broke out a relieved smile.

"Oh man! Way to help out your in-law! Hey yeah, thanks. I'll tell Buffy you sent her your love." She let out a laugh from a joke Wendy couldn't hear.

"Yeah, you know I'll give it to her." the brunette said salaciously. Another hearty laugh erupted from Faith and then was cut off when she met eyes with Wendy reminding her of her of the current task.

"But back to business, hey see you soon? Cool, take it easy." Faith ended the call with a poke at the screen and looked to Wendy who was smiling politely at her.

"All good things, I take it?" she asked.

"Yeah, the old guys got axed." Faith explained making a cutting motion across her neck with her hand. "so my sister-in-law's and some of her people are temping for accounting right now." Wendy's eyebrows perked listening hopefully and watching the young woman gesture with her hands as she spoke.

"She said that shits already ready 'cuz they were pretty sure on the place. They're sending a fax of the signed paperwork form our over to your office now as well as an email with a scan of it. They need you guys to sign some stuff and fax it back. We got a currier to get you the pen and ink copies in a couple days. That cool with you?" Faith finshed and saw a mix of joy, relaxation and victory streak over Wendy's face. Faith snorted, amused at the observation.

"That will do just fine." the realtor replied evenly. Another amused snort escaped Faith's nose, though louder which Wendy politely ignored. "Well, if paperwork is handled I guess we're done here. Is there anything else I can help you with Mrs. Lehane?" the realtor had made sure to use the married prefix having noticed the young woman's wedding ring. Faith frowned slightly at Wendy for using her last name, but was thoughtful for a moment.

"Actually, you mind giving me a ride to my bike? I parked it, like a couple miles away on the property edge. I'd hoof it but I've already been walkin', like, all day." she asked tiredly in an awkward tone.

"Sure, that's absolutely no problem. Do you need to get anything?" Wendy asked looking downwards at Faith's socks. The younger woman glanced down following the realtor's line of sight. Seeing socks instead of shoes, she remembered her boots that she had left outside. Grinning at the older blond, she took steps to the front door and opened them to reveal a pair of muddy black combat boots that rested on the overgrown grass by the edge of a red brick path. It led to the black asphalt of a driveway where Wendy's green sedan was parked.

Wendy gave Faith a half smile as she walked out onto the expansive porch. She pulled out a set of keys as Faith walked passed her and sat on the walkway and began tugging her boots over her now dirty socks. Locking the door behind her Wendy made were way besides Faith and stood over her as the security chief began tying her boot laces. A quick scan of the exterior of the house and she saw a single window on the south wing of the second floor of the manor was ajar. "Is that how you got in?" Wendy looked down to Faith and pointed at the opening. The brunette nodded as she finished the last of the laces.

"Damn, I am fuckin' forgetful today. Lemme get that." Faith grunted as she got up from the ground.

Before Wendy could say a word, Faith was on her feet and sprinting towards the house. A portion of the building jutted outwards creating a lip right below the opened window. Faith ran towards the corner, used the right angled walls to effortlessly spring back and forth and upwards until she could grab the lip with both hands. She hung there for a moment and then propelled herself upwards, landing daintily on the lip's edge. She reached in and secured the window making sure it was shut tightly. Satisfied, she somersaulted backwards onto the grass sticking her landing.

"Wow that was easier with my boots." Faith exclaimed happily. She walked back and stood besides Wendy.

Faith began kicking the brick walkway, trying to shake the rest of the mud from the bottoms of her boots as she ignored the shock on the woman's face. "You good?" she asked Wendy casually and all the realtor could do was nod and walk the distance to her car. Faith followed giving the old manor one last appraising look before also giving one to the woman walking towards a green sedan.

With the turn of a key Wendy's car roared to life and they drove down the asphalt, at the end of the very long drive turned into the main road that led away from the large old building.

Wendy depressed a pedal and the car lurched forward and off of the property. She followed the directions given to her by Faith and continued on the road in a semi-awkward silence. After a few minutes Faith decided to take the initiative and began speaking.

"So what's ex-military doin' sellin' houses? I thought you guys turned into cops or go private contract." she turned to the realtor for an answer but received a scowl instead.

"Am I that obvious about it? I didn't think I was." Wendy replied casually. With several tours of duty in the Middle East and Pakistan, Wendy's military career spanned over a decade. It was a part of her life that she didn't openly tout and actively avoided revealing. Her passenger's youthfulness kept distracting Wendy from the fact that this woman was the head of security for a well funded international organization and that her observational skills matched her title. Faith shrugged into her seat-belt turning her gaze onto the road ahead.

"Sometimes when you relax you do that thing where you put your hands behind your back and step out a little." The brunette replied. "I only know three guys that do that and two of them are career soldiers."

"And the third guy?" Wendy asked continuing the conversation. Faith frowned slightly

"He's kinda a military enthusiast." She looked away from the road ahead to the driver. "You also do that thing military people do where you keep talkin' but you don't say shit."

Her words were met with a few moments of silence and the car halted at a red light. The middle-aged blond realtor looked to her young brunette passenger. Faith let the woman think silently, knowing that the realtor was smart enough to be meticulous about how she would reply. The traffic light turned green and the car moved forward, continuing their trek. A lazy smirk danced on Wendy's face as she finally replied.

"You're obviously not military but you act like a soldier when you walk and sometimes when you talk to Mr. Giles." Wendy asserted, her eyes actively scanning the road before her. "And you give me this feeling that you have been in the middle of some serious shit. You probably know how to handle some pretty fucked-up situations." Faith perked attentively at the realtor's swearing.

"So I'll ask you, after all garbage you've seen and dealt with, don't you think selling houses to people is a walk in the park?" Faith nodded in agreement and gave her big grin in reply, her dark hair and deep brown eyes framing her big white smile.

They pulled over a few yards behind Faith's motorcycle. It's silver body and tan trim looked like a bright metal gash on the shoulder of the forest lined asphalt road. Faith unbuckled her seatbelt and pulled her phone from its holster after feeling it vibrate. A text with details about a house warming for the newly purchased Cleveland manor was sent over the Council groupchat by Dawn. Several local Slayers, including Buffy, Violet and Caridad had already answered affirming their attendance.

"I thought you'd be a Harley kind of girl." Wendy commented as she identified the Big Boy as Faith's bike.

"It's a hand-me-down and I'm cheap." Faith answered dismissively. "Listen, we got a housewarming coming up in about week for the place and you seem cool enough to keep in touch with, so I was wondering if you wannna come? Giles is gonna be there and I can probably get him plastered, so that's worth at least a few hours at least."

Wendy toyed with the idea of the intensely proper Englishman swooning and drunk. She decided that it was something she would be willing to see and a broad smile ran across her face, "I know the place already so just give me a time and I'm there."

With another dazzling grin, Faith gave Wendy her business card as she left and made her way to her motorcycle. Wendy looked at the small card-stock rectangle in her hand and the start of a motorcycle was heard beyond. In black ornate lettering read "New Watcher's Council Ltd." Maybe they make clocks Wendy mused as she watched the beautiful and young Security Chief speed away on her secondhand motorcycle.

* * *

An engine rumbled outside Jacob Turner's living room. His fingers continued dancing on the keyboard in front of him as he tore his eyes from the laptop screen and looked out his large windows. Through the open curtain he saw his neighbor from across the street pulling into her driveway on a motorcycle. The engine was cut after the rider parked next to a sports-wagon and the rider removed a black helmet letting long, wavy black hair tumble down to the small of her back. Jacob knew it was Faith Lehane even before seeing her face.

He saved the magazine piece he was working on and got up. He stretched his lanky frame, his back and neck feeling relief from sitting in once place and typing for much too long. Jacob was tall, skinny and his skin was the color of milk-less coffee. His aunt once told him that he looked like a piece of coal stretched out and with clothes on. Thick, black and course hair puffed out a little on his head, indicating a need for a shape-up.

Asides from the massive computer desk, which was littered with photographs of family random pieces of paper and books, the heavy leather chair and the curtains on the windows, the living room was mostly unfurnished. Stacks of more books varying in height lined the wall and dotted the carpet floor. Post-its of a cornucopia of colors were used for bookmarks in nearly every stack creating a complicated classification system that only he understood. Cork boards, large and small, covered the room's walls and were tacked with more notes scrawled with ideas in shorthand. The entire house save the kitchen and bathrooms mimicked his living room, indicative of his bachelor/writer lifestyle.

He still had ample time before his deadline forced him back onto his keyboard and he wanted to greet his next door neighbor of several years. Also Jacob couldn't cook and sometimes the Lehanes were nice enough to feed him something other than the instant ramen or microwavable food which was his usual fare. After his first and only novel three years ago he had earned enough money for him to buy a two story home in Cleveland's suburbs.

But the lull in his creative ability forced him in to doing pieces for magazines which he may or may not have interests in; while his expertise was Ancient History he took whatever work he could get his hands on. And work was sparse and the pay was meager but enough to pay his bills and keep something in his stomach most of the time. Though compared to other twenty-somethings with a Masters in Ancient History, he was still doing incredibly well for himself.

Despite having to be frugal, he loved being a house owner too much to ever give it up. After growing up in a tiny apartment with his family of five in the South Bronx, he became tired of being surrounded by crowds, skyscrapers and noise every moment of his life. He wanted a place where he could stargaze in his backyard. He wanted to own the space he wrote in. He wanted the peace suburban domestication offered.

The clock on his computer read a quarter to seven. Jacob thought for a moment, maybe bum some snacks and then watch Jeopardy with his neighbors, then back to the grindstone. It was a good plan, a food and T.V. break was always a good idea for maintaining productivity he thought.

He donned a blue fitted Yankee's hat making his hair pop out a little underneath. A plain white T-shirt, basketball shorts, and sandals were acceptable. He shrugged; it was just his neighbors. He went into his kitchen and opened his refrigerator and saw it was devoid of anything besides a six-pack of Guinness that he could offer Faith. He grabbed the cardboard handle of the packaging and made his way out the back door. He shut it, locked it and padded over to the house across the street.

Most of the two story colonials in the surrounding area were similar in room design and style. But the coloring, the fencing and the vehicles that parked in the driveways varied greatly. The writer in Jacob liked the poetry of it; every house was different but the same.

A light in the living room and the sound of a television from within let Jacob know that he wasn't interrupting anything too important. He knocked on the door just loud enough to be heard and waited.

"Yeah?" a muffled voice was heard through the door after the television became mute.

Jacob then gave his signature knock. It was a faster one and for a longer duration, he could have just answered but he didn't like raising his voice around the neighborhood at night. The door opened to a scowling but still pretty woman. She was wearing dirty black jeans a red tank-top and was shoeless.

Jacob flashed back to the memory of when he first Faith Lehane three and a half years ago. She had moved into the house across the street from him, following the rumor that the new neighbors were either an ex-con or an openly gay couple with a child. She was standing on the curb of his side of the street watching movers schlep furniture into her newly purchased home.

He remembered that she was wearing combat boots, old faded jeans and ragged Red Socks t-shirt that hung loosely over her chest. As he walked over to introduce himself a hand holding a cigarette dropped to her side after the sound of a beer tab hissed. It was a one minute after noon and she blew out smoke then chugged a beer right after.

"Faith Lehane." She said as she reached out to him after putting the cigarette in her mouth. She looked directly into his eyes when she spoke.

"Jacob Turner. Welcome to the neighborhood." he greeted her warmly.

Several months later he met her again, or rather found her in his first floor bathroom where she had vomited epically. This was the morning after she had mistakenly kicked down his front door in a herculean state of drunkenness and used the similar floor planning of their houses to navigate to the half bath by the kitchen, all while Jacob peacefully slept. After being showered, Faith admitted over a bowl of cereal to have been spectacularly thrown out her home the day before by her angry wife and crawling into a bottle right afterwards. He offered her his couch and she offered to repay him by fixing his door and buying something to eat for the place.

"What makes you think I need you to buy me food?" he contended, thinking the small woman assumptive.

Faith then gave a look to her surroundings. She was sitting on a milk-crate in the mostly empty living room, with only the stacks and stacks of books on the floor and the barely legible handwritten notes that dotted the walls as furnishings. Jacob became suddenly self-conscious at the impromptu inspection. Faith's eyes fell to the spoon and empty bowl of cereal in her hands and she laughed weakly.

"It's, like, in the middle of the afternoon and all got to offer me was a bowl of cornflakes. And the way you got your livin' room set up? You're either a starving artist or a psychopath." she guessed

"I'm a writer." He declared indignantly and accepted her offer to fill his coffers with food. He spent the next few days with a belly full of take-out and beer, playing video-games in his kitchen and grousing about women with his exiled neighbor. Until her wife took her back home after so much sweet talking mixed with groveling. A home to where Jacob was then always welcome to come around. No matter what face Faith Lehane was making at him several years later.

"I got brews!" Jacob announced happily standing on the lit porch of his friends home. Faith's scowl disappeared with a laugh and gruff invitation.

"Buffy's in the kitchen, go say hi. And there's some pizza in the fridge." She knew why he was here and she was happy to oblige him. She grinned as she watched him leave sandals by Faith's boots in the foyer. After years of hanging out at his neighbor's he knew the rule; no shoes on the wood flooring.

Jacob made his way to the kitchen in the rear and swung the doors open. He saw Faith's wife, Buffy, cutting celery sticks. The slim and slight blond woman perked up at the sight of him. She wore a light blue blouse, with a tan skirt that went below her knees and was barefoot. She gave him a toothy smile and a greeting.

"Heya, novelist!" she spoke in a warm singsong voice. "You boozin' up my lady so you can beat us at Jeopardy?" she accused, her eyes narrowing at the beers in his hand. She waved the small knife at him in mock-threat. Jacob simply returned the smile and greeted her with a friendly wave.

"Nah, it's just good manners to offer cold beverages when begging for food and television time." he said sagely. "Faith said there's pizza?" Buffy nodded and grabbed two slices of day old pizza from the fridge. She spoke absently as she moved.

"Your big ol' plasma screen broken or did you just wanna show off your trivia skills the local gay couple?" Buffy's casual question made Jacob scowl.

"Had to pawn it last week." His shoulders sagged and he made a frustrated face with the answer. Buffy frowned at the young writer as she pulled warm pizza from the microwave after hearing a beep. A familiar look in her eyes caused him to raise a finger up quieting her next words.

"I'll get it back after I finish this piece I'm working on. Then you guys can come over to my place for beers and get Jeopardy clues wrong." He declared firmly

"You shouldn't be so proud that you refuse to accept a helping hand." Buffy rolled her eyes as she started to lecture Jacob.

She had always thought that he was a really good kid, and asides from the being the cause of occasional snack shortages, he was a great neighbor. The Lehanes felt very protective of the young writer, they even trusted him enough to babysit their son. Buffy, being almost ten years his senior, couldn't help taking a maternal tone when she disagreed with him on things.

"You know I was a lot like you when I was in my teens." Holding the warm plate and the Guinness in her hands Buffy let Jacob hold open the door for her as she exited the kitchen.

"You were tall and black?" he asked jokingly.

"That and I had a lot of responsibility heaped on to me early." She rolled her eyes at him again, but with faux-agitation and continued, "and even though I thought I could handle it alone, I struggled a lot with it. But I still I refused anyone's help, 'cuz I thought that I should learn to be strong enough to do things on my own." She made her way towards the living-room and Jacob trailed behind.

The room was decorated lightly with floral paintings hanging on the walls. There was a fireplace with an abundance of pictures of family, friends, coworkers and even some students from the school Buffy and Faith worked for. Buffy found a space by her wife on their large brown sofa and Jacob settled into the love seat besides it. Faith turned to them giving attention to their conversation, or really Buffy mothering their young neighbor and Jacob patiently listening.

Buffy continued after she had set the food down in front of her wife and guest. She got comfortable, put an arm around Faith while saying "But then I started to accept that my friends only wanted to help of me because they cared about me. They helped me with my responsibilities and I didn't feel so weighed down by them as much."

"Jake's a grown man, B." Faith spoke up using Jacobs nick name while defending him. She had known about the Jacob pawning the TV since he had done it. "If he thinks he can do what's gotta be done, then you should trust that he will." The brunette shrugged heavily and continued. "Some people are like me, they gotta try to do it their way and fail before they're even willing to accept help." Faith changed the channel till a familiar theme tune played, the awaited quiz show began.

"But remember that we're always willing to pitch in when you decide to accept it." Faith directed the last sentence at the young writer with a strong look. Buffy pouted at the both of them and Jacob became genuinely thoughtful of his neighbor's words.

The subject turned lighter and then died away as the three started trying to solve trivia clues written in white text over a blue background. Jacob was adept at figuring out clues on Literature, History and art. Buffy and Faith always surprised him with their random knowledge of ancient religions or mythology or medieval weaponry. They were also quick at solving the general military clues and occult stuff.

The couple had been getting together like this a few times a week for years now with the writer from across. It was nearly a tradition for Jacob and the Lehanes to try and make time for each other. A commercial break came on and Jacob turned to the married couple opposite him.

"Where's your little troublemaker by the way?" Jacob asked about their son, Nicholas.

"Oh, Nicky and his uncle Xander went camping for the week. We didn't want him to do nothing for too long during the summer." Nicholas was Faith's biologically from a previous relationship. His father had died protecting a family from a group of coked-out gang kids. Jacob's heart went out to Faith deeply for losing Nicholas' other half.

There were framed pictures of a newborn Nicholas being held a broad-chested black man that was little Nicky's father. The series of frames were prominently featured on the mantle. There were also pictures of the previously mentioned Uncle Xander hugging and smiling with the Lehanes and other unnamed people.

Xander was easy to spot as he was the only one in the many pictures with an eye-patch. He was a close family friend the couple knew since they were in high-school. Jacob had met the big one eyed man several times before and genuinely liked him. He was affable, considerate and was an endless font of nerdy information. He owned a construction company and did a lot of work with the Lehanes school, sometimes he had some of their students work for him in the summer. Probably clerical stuff, Jacob assumed.

After _Final Jeopardy,_ Jacob mentally tallied up the points the three of them accrued during the program and announced himself as the winner. Faith eyed him suspiciously and looked to her wife who she was cuddling with. Buffy was doing score tracking on a smart-phone and confirmed that their young neighbor had once again beaten the couples combined scores by a wide margin.

Buffy looked back at her wife shaking her head. Faith was crestfallen in another trivia defeat. The tall young man got up and stretched like the Jeopardy winner that he was. He quickly tallied the overall points since they had since they decided to keep track of them a month ago in his head and grinned inwardly at the figure.

"Overall score, Black People: 17, Lesbians: 5!" He announced striking his fist upward in a victorious pose. Buffy looked down at her smart phone confirming his tally yet again. With tonight's loss, Lesbians were really taking a pounding in the trivia arena. She then raised a fist and made a face full of fire and determination.

"Lesbians will always endure!" she declared mightily. They shared a hearty laugh and Jacob began saying his good-byes. Dinner eaten, friend-time spent with beer, and trivia demolished he was going to head home and do his do his best to finish writing his magazine article and eventually, be able to return the Lehane's hospitality.


	3. Chapter 3

Time Frame: A decade after both BtVS & AtS finales.

Rating: T-Mature (cuz Faith still curses like a sailor)

This story contains several gay relationships, consider yourselves forewarned.

Pairings: as of the moment, only B/F, D/X and Wes/Ill are planned. More may eventually follow.

Final Note: This is my first fan-fic, reviews, beta reads and constructive criticism are all welcome.

Legalities: All B:TVS characters are that of the Mighty Whedon and his glorious intellect. This work is meant only in celebration and nothing ulterior.

* * *

Chapter 3

Jessie dodged her two opponent's attacks backing away from their much longer reach. She kicked out causing them to jerk backwards in hopes to buy sometime for some kind of counter attack. Instead she lost her footing as one of her opponents tried to grab her but she recovered. Then both came at her at once. A low kick was side stepped and a punch combination was blocked. She evaded another grab with a backwards somersault. She rolled into a crouch and then waited for them to come again.

"Stop, stop! Please, tell me the mistakes that were made!" Wesley called out to his junior slayers in the sparring area. The four of them used a corner of the training room for sparring sessions every morning. It was a large space behind an office that The Council had set up for the Cleveland branch of Angel Investigations. The walls were semi covered with mirrors and the otherwise exposed brick has their surfaces lined with training weapons, all neatly maintained.

Bright sunlight spilled down from large windows at the top of the rear-most wall. A slender woman sat with perfect posture on a wooden stool well away from the fighters. She basked like a lounging predator in the morning rays. Dark-blue hair framed her face. Startling eyes, the color of petunias, watched the spar with only a modicum of interest. Her face was sharp, but softened at her cheeks and her skin matched the bluish tinge of her eyes. A white camisole loosely hugged her thin figure, revealing her bare blue tinted shoulder. A light-brown cotton skirt slid down to her ankles. She would be beautiful if not for her terrible gaze.

The slayers were all sporting a variety of gym gear but their shirts all had the same small design on the upper left. It was a red cartoon heart with a brown wooden stake through it, on the bottom, a tan ribbon with Latin "Electis Nocte Custodire" wrapped around the lower part of the art. Wesley wore a loose "Angel Investigations" shirt with a symbol that vaguely resembled a figure with wings.

Jessie growled, upset at herself and tried to calm her heavy breathing. Her mind recapped the sparring match with her two squad-mates, Denise and Lynn. She had been able to keep them both of her seniors at bay for a majority of the fight but quicker than planned, exhaustion set in from trying to dodge and outmaneuver the older girls, was she pushing herself too hard again?

"I think that I tired myself out. I didn't have more than ten seconds left in me before you called a stop." Jessie admitted harshly in between panting.

Sweat caused her dark olive skin to shine in the training room's lights and her dark curly hair was matted from the perspiration. The height of the two blond girls made the girl crouching on the mat flooring look tiny. At a couple inches below six feet, they both stood nearly half a foot taller than Jessie. Her crouching only magnified the difference. Wesley stood a few feet away as the girls exchanged supportive words, he coughed politely and failed regain their attention.

"Aww, no way, honey!" Denise disagreed warmly, a concerned look drawn on her face. "You were doing great! If you weren't going as fast as you were, we'd have caught you way in the start!" she reassured their newest and youngest squad-mate, ignoring Wesley.

The citywide shift from a three-slayer unit to a four-slayer one was implemented only a month ago which prompted the sixteen year old to be added to the squad. And it was only in the last two weeks that Jessie was allowed more to do than just train with the other three girls or research with Wesley and Illyria. The other girls took a quick liking to her earnest need to help, Denise was especially pleased with her generally upbeat attitude and Wesley appreciated her willingness to do research.

"Yah, we weren't holding back, we couldn't keep up with you if we did." Lynn pointed out as she wiped the sweat from her brow.

"Yes, yes, yes, I am sorry for interrupting the love fest," the Englishman interjected loudly, abandoning politeness, "since it has been proven that Jessie's theory of overexertion is inaccurate, could one of you please tell me the actual mistakes that were made during the spar." he asked from them sternly.

The girls began making faces or sounds indicating that they were thinking. Lynn put her finger to her chin while trying to analyze the match. Denise became slack jawed and looked upwards while making an "uuuhh" noise. Wesley pinched his nose becoming frustrated with their poorly veiled delay tactics. Jessie didn't even try, as she sat where she had landed and flicked away sweat from the floor in front of her.

"For heaven's sake, just say you don't know. This will go that much faster if you do." Wesley fumed quietly, he became suddenly tired and sighed.

"She has no taste for the kill." The blue haired woman on the stool across the room declared strongly. Her voice was powerful and left the room silent for for a moment, Lynn and Denise found that they were holding their breaths and exhaled. After staying silent during the exchange between the watcher and their slayers, Illyria, God-King of the Pirmordium deigned to offer them her observation.

She got up from her stool and the long fabric of her skirt covered her bare feet so as she strode towards the slayers, she seemed like she was gliding across the floor. She sniffed them each of the girls in turn as she passed them making her way next to Wesley and gently took his hand in hers. The blond girls frowned slightly at being smelled but Jessie became inquisitive. The affectionate display shared between the demon and the watcher was barely noticed.

"What do you mean?" she asked the slight blue woman from the floor.

"You used your energy to retreat and avoid or attempt to counter your opponents, instead of using gained opportunities to outright attack them." She explained in a voice only just brimming with condescension and boredom. Her tone was cold and dispassionate, as though she had long ago dissected Jessie, examined her and moved along. Wesley was the only one who noticed that her haughtiness was restrained.

"Yes, Illyria is correct, Jessie. There were several times when Denise and Lynn opened themselves up to attack. Instead you either re-positioned yourself for a counter when you clearly should have used the moment to attack." Wesley expanded. The girls rethought the match, trying to identify those moments their watcher pointed out.

"Furthermore, had you been more aggressive, after escaping their first attempt at subduing you, you may have had the chance to turn the fight around on them." The watcher's tone became warm, "You do not need to doubt your strength, Jessie. You are nearly on par with the rest of the team in that regard." Wesley concluded.

Jessie beamed at the praise, and the other girls nodded agreeing with the Englishman's words.

"But strength is useless when you are always running away." Illyria's disdain was not held back this time. She looked at the tiny slayer cross-legged on the training room mat and Jessie shriveled back slightly. The other two girls collapsed besides her as though in solidarity.

"And on to the second point which I direct to all of you," Wesley announced disparagingly, "I disagree with your assessment of not holding back." All the girls became verbally indignant to his accusation but were silenced by their watcher raising his voice.

"Don't bother denying it." His tone was harsh and punishing. The girls cowered harder at his words than they did at the inhuman woman's criticisms. "Frankly, for the first time as a watcher, all my slayers are completely amicable with one-another. Which has become a problem during training; there is no true desire for any of you to truly fight one another." he said. His eyes were earnest and his voice became more even as he arrived to this revelation.

The girls looked warmly at one another and together the gushed "Awww". Then they hugged despite the sweat and aching muscles. The overwhelming positive emotions washed over Illyria like a bucket of cold water spilled overhead. Only Wesley noticed the eye-twitch and her fingers jerking themselves away from his like a claw, lest they crush his fragile human hand. The trio of embracing slayers all froze and paled at seeing their watcher's dark grin cover his face.

"New lesson, ladies, let's call it "Compartmentalization." he announced as his smile grew wild, it took on all the friendliness of the scar on his neck. The look in his eyes matched. The girls braced themselves for Wesley's method of teaching, holding one another for support.

"Fighting stances!" he barked. Slayers let go of each other and jumped into ready positions reflexively. "No teams. Last one standing wins. Anything goes." the Englishman explained.

"But how is that going to make us really want to fight each other?" Lynn asked, not connecting the conditions of the fight to Wesley's previous lecturing. The other two girls shared Lynn's confusion, their faces showing their feelings.

"The losers have to fight Illyria during sparring sessions for the next week. " The girls all paled at the notion and an evil smirk blossomed over Illyria's face. Their shared consternation faded as they traded looks of grim determination. Summery feelings froze to winter at prospect of the blue woman's sadism.

"Holding back on your enemy is to disrespect him. My upcoming lessons will be called "Respect." Illyria, the Old One, decreed. Her cold eyes twinkled at the notion of ensuing violence.

"Begin!" Wesley ordered and their new lesson started.

Lynn struck out from her place in the middle of the three, throwing a back-fist into Denise's face while kicking high at Jessie's head at the same time. Denise rolled back with her squad-mate's knuckles and Jessie managed to get a hand up to block, but the force of Lynn's kick sent her several steps backwards disoriented.

Denise recovered and feigned throwing a high punch which the other blonde tried to blocked, leaving her midsection open to three punishing strikes from Denise, who grunted loudly with each. Lynn caught Denise's wrist on the fourth and pulled her down into an awkward lean. Denise tried to regain her balance but received a brutal hay-maker to the face from a screaming Lynn instead. It knocked the round faced blond punch-drunk, down on her hands and knees.

Before a second strike could be delivered, Jessie's small growling form hit Lynn with a flying tackle knocking them both into their fallen squad-mate, entangling the three in an ugly sequel to their previous group-hug.

Seeing the junior slayers fighting with-out quarter so quickly made the demon, Illyria, nod in approval. She turned to Wesley with satisfaction and gently pecked his cheek with her sapphire lips. He made her proud during moments like this.

"My Qwa'ha Xahn's actions please me." She growled almost affectionately. It was husky and quiet against his ear, which caused a shiver down his back. She breathed out the words and laced them with promises that made Wesley blush appreciatively.

Illyria brushed his face with her finger tips as she strode out the room. She knew that a good king rewards the most worthy of disciples. Behind her, sounds of glorious struggle punctuated by slayers' strangled yells were heard by the God-King Illyria. She pitied Lynn, her predicted winner; all true warriors should feel the magnificence of her hand's impact. She would discuss this later with Wesley.

She entered the main office and saw Gina. She was sitting on a large wooden desk, an electronic tablet was held in her hands and a stone one besides her. Another similar desk stood sentry to the main door. The walls were lined with shelves brimming with books with old scrolls and blueprints stuffed in wherever they could fit. Large computer screens adorned the desks. On one was the Angel Investigation logo. On another screen, the one where Gina sat, a database search was quickly cycling through images of demons that vaguely resembled the one from last night's trap.

Old leather bound books lay open, littered besides the senior slayer and Illyria felt faint magic coming from the stone slate. The senior slayer ran her bare finger over the plastic covered screen in her hands. On it was a close-up image of a tattered yellowing scroll moving with her slender digit's direction. The slayer wore a loose white tank-top and cut off jeans. A faded blue cloth held her black hair back like a bandanna and cheap flip-flops hung from her feet.

She was on domestic duties, which meant she was exempt from training but was tasked to handle cleaning the office and their residences above. The duties were shifted every two days between the four slayers. Domestic duties also meant she had to help with food, which mostly Illyria handled. Gina looked up to the blue demon's entrance and began reciting completed tasks as a greeting. Gina knew that Illyria wouldn't have cared to listen to anything besides what was needed.

"There's takeout on the table," she threw her thumb at the direction of the lunchroom where the delivered Tex-Mex was kept, "and I brought down the rest of Trish's guacamole for it. Your beans and rice were reheated and the stuff for Wes's turkey-club is put to the side for you."

"Did you cover the guac with my salsa?" a layer of her homemade salsa over the surface of the guacamole helped prevent it from browning. Illyria's eyes bore into Gina, her words were threatening. To let Trish Burkle's guacamole brown was an insult she would not tolerate. Gina did her best to withstand the demon's look but quickly shrunk back.

"Uh, yeah and I put them both in the mini-fridge. They can take it out when they're ready to eat." the slayer answered cringing in Illyria's gaze. Gina relaxed after receiving a satisfied nod from the blue woman and before she walked away Illyria spoke.

"You did acceptably." Gina almost blushed at the high praise.

Illyria, God-King of the Primordium, entered the office lunchroom and set a full kettle on the kitchenette to boil water. Her Wesley, highest priest of The Church of Illyria, enjoyed drinking it with his sandwich during lunch. She donned an apron and began slicing the already prepared tomatoes for the turkey club. Her latest Qwa'ha Xahn was generally picky with his food and only his God-King could make sandwiches the way he liked.

After final preparations for lunch were completed, she looked over the servings of food and they were deemed worthy to be devoured by her slayers and their watcher. Two four-seat tables were set with plates, utensils, cups and beverages. The often dubbed "grown-ups" table had teacups set with cream in them, awaiting only teabags and boiling water. Enough time had elapsed for the free-for-all and the combatants would need to be replenished; a good general kept her troops fed.

Wesley was the first to join her in the lunchroom and he greeted her with a smile. He saw her by their table and immediately went to pull out a chair for her. She sat graciously and he joined sitting next to her.

"Lynn will not be sparring with you tomorrow." Wesley announced and began making Illyria a cup of tea with the already set bags and kettle.

"Will you be meeting your contact this afternoon?" she asked lightly, pleased at having predicted correctly. Wesley poured the kettle of boiling water into Illyria's cup before his own.

"Yes, and barring its legitimacy, he should be providing the last piece Giles needs for the new manor." Wesley answered thoughtfully. With the tea now steeping, Wesley took a piece of the quartered sandwich in front of him and bit into it happily. It was just the way he liked it.

Illyria sipped her tea and thought a moment. There would be a gathering for the newly acquired land and she must plan what food to bring and what her and Wesley would be wearing. Traditional social gatherings were battles she did not welcome but, like in any conflict, she would be well prepared for it.

"You will wear the shirt I bought you for the housewarming." she decided out-loud for her high-priest while thinking of her own clothes.

The Englishman nodded absently his thoughts elsewhere, "The real worry, is the contact. I know he's a weasel but I don't know how big a weasel." Another bite of his sandwich was eaten

"You should kill him, I would." Illyria suggested. Wesley nodded, all praise the mighty Illyria for always finding the simplest solution, he thought sardonically. But then genuinely considered her words. He chewed and then swallowed, it really would be the easiest way to handle him.

"Oh I'm sure it won't come to that, he's not that stupid." he said dismissively, sure of the situation and continued to have lunch with the demon god-king.

* * *

Nothing was going to ruin this day, Jacob thought full of bounce and pep.

He was still sort of well-paid, even after stocking up on food that only middle/middle to upper/middle-class folk could afford to eat. And now with just negotiating the release his helpless plasma-screen television from the evil pawnshop, he felt like a knight-errant on his way to get his damsel with the borrowed but still trusty steed, the Lehane's minivan. The fair Lady Buffy of Buffonia was kind enough to bestow it upon him for the afternoon. His other less trustworthy steed, the bus, would not accommodate his bulky, but still grateful, sixty-four inch damsel.

He walked down an alley with the sun behind his back, restaurant workers were hanging out on a cement stoop. Some threw out bags of trash into a dumpster near by and gave him looks as he walked past in his graphic t-shirt, jeans, and sparkling white basketball shoes.

Plans for taking his neighbors out to a nice, but affordable, place for dinner were being debated in Jacob's head. But as much as he wanted to, his bank account said that maybe he should just take a few dives in Jeopardy instead so they wouldn't feel so behind in their competition. He was already going to fill up their minivan with gas, but that's common courtesy. He further contemplated what he would do with his sort-of hard earned pay.

He turned a corner into any the alleyway that was behind the pawnshop. After a long walk down and past it was the parking lot where he left the minivan. The way was shadowed and tighter than the space he was in previously. It was the kind place where kids by themselves from The Bronx stayed clear of. But the space was wide enough that the van could navigate and his plan was to pull up here to collect his precocious cargo as there was no parking on the busy intersection out front. Just a dark path, Jacob dismissed in his head, it couldn't possibly affect his day.

Midway the the alley, passed dumpsters and barred windows, passed the random refuse that littered the shadowy area, Jacob walked alone. Sounds down from the streets ahead blared as he approached them, he stepped casually but paused as he heard sound almost to faint to hear. It came closer and he strained hearing momentarily, his ear perking towards the direction it came from. Suddenly a door on the opposite side of the alley from Jacob burst open and spilled forth something he would never have expected.

Two guys in suits, one with a British accent and another shorter Chinese guy with a very thick accent were arguing loudly. The British mans suit was a bit disheveled but his unshaven face and and aggressive look made him seem inscrutable.

"With all due respect Mr. Wyndam-Price, I believe that you are not abreast on current events." the Chinese man's suit was by far more expensive than the British man's business casual appearance.

"Everyone knows that The, so called, Missing Vindolanda Tablets don't exist, Yin. Don't take me for a fool." The British man announced loudly, the smaller more well-dressed man only scoffed. He over emphasized the word "missing" in jest of the idea.

"Everyone knows that there's five! There was an article in British Archaeology and everything!" The short man transposed his L's and R's and rolled his eyes at the British, mocking him "How could you not know? You fall right into the demographic!"

Jacob was rooted in place. He had written that magazine piece on the tablets they were arguing about almost a year ago! "Someone actually reads my shit!" Jacob trumpeted in his mind. It was some of his most proud work and the money he got for that article paid his mortgage nearly all the way into the summer. He puffed out a little and thought about calling his family to tell them. He assumed these two to be artifact collectors, museum curators or some other related field. Who else would be talking about ancient roman tablets?

"I am not a damn archaeologist, Yin," the British man countered and replied viciously "and I didn't read that article because I was probably having sex with a woman." Both Jacob and Yin winced, indignant as well as wounded at his words. Jacob planned to leave out what the Englishman had inferred when he relayed the story later to his mother.

Yin was about to continue the verbal match but a loud clearing of a throat was followed by a polite "Excuse me?" was heard from across the alley. The two arguing men paused. They turned to the tall black man who had been watching them since they set foot in the alleyway. A finger up and his face set as amicably as possible, his dark face was split with a proud smile.

"He's right, those tablets are real, and there's five of them." he stepped towards the arguing men and thought he heard the sound of leaves rustling behind him but ignored it in the face of possible business connections. He reached for his personally designed business cards clipped on his wallet/smartphone case.

"I actually wrote the article he mentioned. My name is Jacob Turner, here's my card." he handed one to both men. The Chinese man took it, eyeing Jacob curiously. The taller British man looked at it incredulously and crushed it in his hand. Jacob died a little as they were expensive.

The Englishman turned to the shorter man becoming notably agitated. "What is this, Yin, a plant? What do you think you're playing at?" Jacob was used to people not believing his credentials, he knew his current casual attire didn't represent his education well. He pressed on with the facts he long ago researched for his previous writing assignment.

"Almost five hundred wood tablets from were discovered in the Roman fort, Vindolanda in the Seventies. Those things right?" He looked to both foreign men for confirmation.

"He's legit boss, his article's on that mag's website." stated a girlish voice. Jacob whirled around startled, searching for speaker. He found a blond girl holding a smart-phone with one hand was standing right besides him. Nearly a head shorter than he was, she was still taller than most women. Her long hair was pulled back int a ponytail whose end was stuck under her tan leather jacket. On her face were the most adorable freckles Jacob had ever seen. She continued to poke at the screen while she spoke. Jeans and combat boots finished her outfit giving her a very rugged look. Jacob turned his inspection upwards towards the high brick walls and metal fire escapes above, trying to figure out where she had come from.

"Master's in history, bachelor's in fine arts, he started college at fifteen! This guy is smart!" the young woman exclaimed reading it off from her screen while Jacob remained outwardly humble, despite mentally high-fiving himself.

"And the pic they provide of the author matches the one Jacob Turner living around the area. You got a place around here, cutie?" She grinned at him, which caused the freckles on her nose to wrinkle. The casual flirtation caused Jacob to almost switch gears into debonair mode but was brought back to business at hand by with a sudden realization.

"How'd you get all that so fast?" he asked the tall, young woman. She looked up at him from her screen.

"I got an app for that." she replied shaking her phone at him.

"See? Even a guy on the street knows about the new tablets." he asserted, proving his point to the Englishman.

"We're in an alley." the blond girl responded confused.

"Figure of speech!" Yin specified with a very high pitch, "Would you like to ask him anything else?" his face was full of smugness.

The Englishman narrowed his eyes at the well dressed Chinese man and then turned to Jacob to demand more facts from him. "The missing tablets, what did they say?"

"Something about what Septimus Severus left at the fort when he died there after getting sick trying to quell the Britons." the writer said making a dismissive gesture, "A lot of references to magical stuff, everyone thinks he was out of his mind at the time though, 'cuz you know, dying and all."

"All accounts of Emperor Severus Septimus say he died near York, over two hundred miles away." debated the unshaven Englishman. Jacob shook his head correcting him.

"The tablets refute that, explaining that his personal guard got him back to Vindolanda to die with something precious to him. Something that was left by another emperor, Hadrian himself." Jacob explained dramatically.

Yin wore his look of triumph for everyone to see. The Englishman became silent as he processed the information, everything relayed from Yin about the tablets coincided with what this young man had said. He kept his eyes firmly on the shorter man he had been arguing with. Jacob tensed, the two men before him maybe using his words as a factor for real decisions, he thought. And with the pretty blond behind him smiling at him suggestively, he was left awkwardly shifting in place.

"Well then, I would guess that this greatly changes the situation." the Englishman announced to both men, his tone shifting from suddenly from suspicion to cheer.

"Mister Turner!" he looked to Jacob, "I sincerely apologize for ruining your card, may I have another?" The Englishman said apologetically, Jacob took this as a positive sign and grinned.

"Hey no problem, I got a million of them." He only had thirty-four left and he mentally deducted the price for ordering more from his current finances. He handed a second business card to the Englishman who accepted it graciously. "I'm just happy to help settle an argument." Jacob said to both men, turning away. Academic muscles flexed, he turned and made motions to walk off but paused. Then, in one smooth motion, slipped out another business card and handed lucky number thirty-three to the sneaky blond.

"Hey, just in case your boss losses the one I gave him." they shared a sly grin and Wesley rolled his eyes along with Yin. "Have a good day gentlemen." he nodded to his potential business contacts and heard Yin recommend to the Englishman that he and his young associate, Lynn, from what Jacob overheard, to continue their discussions inside as the tall young man strolled away.

He entered the parking-lot, the afternoon sun shone bright as he made his way to a maroon van and thought about his day. Television rescued, argument settled, girls flirted with and possible contacts in the the museum world? Jacobs day went from good to epic. It was a day that was going be spoken about for years to come he thought to himself fondly.

* * *

"Seriously, Yin." Wesley scoffed rolling his eyes. "I didn't think you were this stupid."

The short, well-dressed Chinese man gave him a jackal's smile. He had lured the watcher and the slayer into a back room on the promise allowing Wesley to see the Vindolanda tablets for himself. Instead the room was populated by tall imposing brownish-yellow scaled demons. A crown of small ridged horns dotted their heads and white claws adorned their fingertips. Most of them wore plaid button-downs, faded jeans and boots. Lynn thought that they looked like construction workers, despite each holding jagged knives of black metal.

"We are more than happy to pay for the tablets and information, you know." Wesley continued evenly. Lynn was relaxed. There were seven of the scaly brutes in the room and the slayer gave them each measuring glances. This could be either slow and clean, or fast and ugly. She waited for Wesley's word and was eager to find out.

"In our line of work, Mr. Wyndam-Price, sometimes good favor is much more valuable than money." his voice lost any comic element in his verbal transposition. He turned a guesturing hand to the heavily-built demons behind him. "For example, the Yidiri demon, the most expensive mercenaries in this dimension. Yet the investment in hiring them will yield opportunities much more valuable than currency. This is business, I am sure you understand."

"I have no time for this." Wesley spoke dismissively. "Lynn, take care of them would you?" From a holster clipped to her back, Lynn drew out her Colt Defender. She let it roar seven times. A bullet hit the demons in the chest or head, causing black blood to splatter the wood panel wall behind them. They slumped lifelessly to the ground. The demons had barely made any steps towards her, though one managed to get passed Yin before it was gunned down and fell to the floor in front of the pistol wielding slayer.

"Now, punish Mr. Yin." The Englishman commanded to his slayer. Smoke wafted from the barrel as Lynn took two big steps to where Yin stood agape. She lifted her gun high and pistol-whipped the short man in the collarbone. The crack was audible but the scream of pain was even louder, Yin crumbled to his knees gingerly holding his broken bone, his breath became ragged as he tried to compose himself despite the agony. The slayer went over the Yidiri bodies making sure each were dead. She ignored the corpse that dropped in front of Yin. Wesley made his way over Yin.

"Lynn, the tablets are most likely in Yin's main office. Please retrieve them. Kill anything that isn't human." he stood above the broken man as Lynn stepped out. She gave a hesitant look to her watcher and a pitiful one to Yin. She knew where to go with out being told.

"You should have just dealt straight with us, Yin." Wesley opined after his slayer exited. The Englishman could hear the pain in Yin's voice he spoke.

"Risks and rewards, Mr. Whyndam-Price." Yin's breathing was short and strained. He knelt close to the well-dressed man so he could speak softly.

"If you tell me who you were trying to capture us for, I won't kill you." the watcher declared sympathetically and Yin merely laughed at the Englishman.

"Liar." he spit out and Wesley frowned. A mechanism was activated on his forearm and a flat blade sprung out. Wesley plunged it into Yin's jugular and twisted it, killing him. The Englishman stood and wiped the blade off with a dark red kerchief from his pocket, muffled sounds of fighting came from outside the door and drifted away slowly. He retracted the blade into the housing underneath his sleeve and Wesley walked out the room.

He pulled out his smartphone and began composing a text to the local coven for a clean up and made his way towards where Lynn was sent to. At the end of a hallway a door was ajar and the sounds of rustling paper was heard. Opening it, Wesley discovered Lynn rifling through a desk at the center of the ornately decorated office. She noticed flecks of red on his hand and her the corners of the mouth pulled down slightly.

"Uh, you should probably clean, um..." she gestured at the stains. Wesley inspected the back of his hand and saw the red flecks.

"_All the perfumes of Arabia could not sweeten this hand_." he paraphrased The Bard with a wry smile, amused with himself. Lynn tried to hide her flinch but Wesley saw her reaction and stayed silent.

"Did you have to...? the slayer trailed off unsure if she were allowed to ask. Wesley noted how the young woman, who had just slain over half a dozen demons, seemed to have a difficult time with what he had just done.

"Do you trust me, Lynn?" He met her eyes with his. They were big, blue and sincere. But they were hard, too hard for a girl her age the watcher thought. Yet despite the hardness, those eyes still recoiled at what had been done to Yin.

"You're my watcher." Lynn stated simply as she met his gaze. Wesley gave her a warm smile understanding her implication and nodded satisfied with her answer. The blood stains were then cleaned off the best Wesley could.

A metal briefcase was found and Lynn pried it open with a blade. Inside contained five wooden tablets roughly the size of print paper. There was a manila folder as well, indecipherable characters scrawled all over yellow legal pads were kept within. With the briefcase in hand and all the relevant material collected they made their way out the back into the alley.

Lynn hung back though kept in step with her watcher. She turned her head to give another look to the alley and saw a maroon minivan pull up besides a door near the end of the alley. The man they had met earlier in the alley exited the driver's side. She watched him approach the door and knock, then he looked at her direction.

They locked eyes briefly. She smiled wide and gave the tall, dark, academic a small wave. He returned it and her smile. Lynn whipped her head forwards and picked up her pace realizing Wesley was too far ahead. The slayer fingered the card in her pocket absently, her bloody work forgotten for the moment.

"Damn!" Wesley exclaimed suddenly stopping mid-stride. Lynn stood by his side looking worried. The Englishman looked sincerely pained. Before Lynn could question him he sighed in exasperation.

"I hate it when Illyria turns out to be completely right." Wesley shook his head and Lynn gave him an sympathetic look. They walked out of the alleyway shoulder to shoulder.


	4. Chapter 4

Time Frame: A decade after both BtVS & AtS finales.

Rating: T-Mature (cuz Faith still curses like a sailor)

This story contains several gay relationships, consider yourselves forewarned.

Pairings: as of the moment, only B/F, D/X and Wes/Ill are planned. More may eventually follow.

Final Note: This is my first fan-fic, reviews, beta reads and constructive criticism are all welcome.

Legalities: All B:TVS characters are that of the Mighty Whedon and his glorious intellect. This work is meant only in celebration and nothing ulterior.

* * *

Chapter 4

Buffy studied the names and frowned. A soft yellow sundress beneath a stained blue apron draped over her as she sat at the kitchen table. Pristine marble counter-tops shone in the late afternoon light. She had just finished cleaning the stove, it gleamed with her effort. After the task was done her mind raced for something else to clean but found that the surfaces of the home that she shared with her wife and child, was now spotless. With no more excuses she forced herself to confront the source of her procrastination. Off the desk in her home office, she took a dreaded stack of manila file-folders. Sitting in her kitchen she reread the eight names typed on the separate folders in front of her.

She missed Nicholas.

A deep sigh came from the bottom of her heart. She memorized them. The names were repeated over and over, mentally rehearsed until she could say all eight by heart. Then she thought of another list of names she's kept over the years and added them to it.

"Merrick, Jessie, Jenny Calendar…" she murmured under her breath. She wondered if Giles had files on them somewhere.

There was too much of the past on her mind right now. She wanted to think about the future. Something, for a very long time, she didn't think she would ever have, let alone have someone to share it with. A future these names didn't have. They were at this for over almost two decades and their bigger numbers only seemed to multiply their annual death toll. six watchers and two slayers died this year. And it was still only August, that alone was weight difficult to bear. Knowing that there would be more names to come made her want to break down in tears.

She missed Faith.

The three ambushes the girls reported stank of plots and schemes. The first one was last year. The Council lost a watcher and her research staff. A single one of those clawed corpse monsters are more than a match for a pair of slayers, three normal humans and a hobbyists mage stood no chance. Their slayer finished it off with a Molotov cocktail after it nearly gutted her.

The second time, one of those things cost Kennedy nearly her entire team. That thing with the horrible mouth and flailing tongue came out of nowhere during the mission to prevent that year's apocalypse. A girl went down killing it so Kennedy's slayers could have that clutch moment they needed to get their jobs done. Another one died to make sure they did. Cleveland's Hellmouth was again kept shut but at the cost of two girls.

The research teams were doing their best trying to find a direction to start tracking, but each possible lead brought them the same place every time, nowhere. Nothing mystical or mechanical could find traces of these monsters. They seemed to only spring out from live humans when a slayer's back was turned. Something out was throwing these things at slayers to achieve who knows what. All that was left for The Council to do then was to be vigilant and bide its time. Which paid off.

Trap three had it's teeth pulled out of it and an ugly huge-mouthed, slimy-tongued, nasty-clawed demon was stuffed into a box to be sliced open and poked at by smarty-smart witches and research watchers. Wesley's girls needed to be spoken to personally, Buffy wanted to know what they saw as soon as possible. And they needed to be thanked for getting them a leg up on whoever is trying to kill slayers this time.

It was a solid lead. Resolve washed over her. This was her responsibility and her duty. She called them, the rest of the slayers, and they answered. Because they fought at her side she was going to make sure they got their jobs done and came home. We'll train harder and do better, she vowed inwardly. The Council was going to find where this thing lived then they were going rip it's heart out and shove it down it's throat. If it has a throat, it maybe ephemeral, who knows. If it is they'll the do the heart thing figuratively. But whatever. This thing was going to die, a slayer's gift was all Buffy could offer.

Buffy had been home all day doing odd tasks and chores that she had been putting off since forever. She was determined to get the work related stuff done before the new property was bought but that went faster than expected. Giles was pretty dead set on the place after all.

Reviewing the files on the recently deceased halted her desire to do anything and she was left sitting there to brood. She wanted to cuddle with her son and her wife. She wanted to beat something up. She wanted both consecutively, maybe the latter first then the former. Then have ice cream. She really missed her family at the moment.

Faith was back at the manor with Giles and some witches from the coven. They had found some kind of witchy stuff that needed to be un-magicked it or some kind of de-ritualizing. Or something. They had told her it was no big deal. Everyone's been telling her that things weren't big deals lately. But Wesley and Illyria set up shop almost two years ago, right before the first slayer-team got ambushed. Then Xander came all the way out here from Rome to oversee the manor's renovations. She even heard that a boss-witch was there helping cleanse the area too. A lot of big guns are hanging out around Cleveland for no big deals.

She heard someone pull into her driveway and glanced at the clock. It was around half past five and she figured Jacob was returning the van. She gathered the loose files in front of her and stacked them back in order of date then got up to open the front door for her neighbor. She had asked him to pick up some groceries for her went to help bring it in. She thought that she the reason she took a liking to him because Jacob's future was so bright. So far away from the dark path her and her family walked down. She should really get around to reading something of his. And finish cleaning up before the arrival of Nicholas, the seven year old shaped question machine that was her son. Buffy composed herself a moment before she swung her backdoor open to greet the young writer.

The sun streaked from the open portal onto the island in the middle of her kitchen. The driveway ran the length of the property similar to other houses in the neighborhood. It ran into a garage separate from the house and gave access to the rear entrance to a tall gated fence surrounding the Lehane's home. Jacob held a couple bags in one hand and awkwardly held another while trying to open the gate. Buffy rushed to open it and take a grocery bag for herself.

The grassy backyard was modest in size. Evidence of a family dotted its landscape. A two seat swing-set with a slide attached, patio furniture, and a small cement path that led to the gate could be seen. There was even an area that was brown with constant stepping, where Faith and Buffy would practice their forms in the morning. The dirt peeking from the grass spoke of the people that lived here.

Buffy led Jacob back into her kitchen, the load shared between them and together put perishable food into the refrigerator while the writer chatted about the highlight of his great day.

"So the guy was all '_But Severus Septimus died at York two hundred miles away.' _and I'm like, '_If I may correct you sir, but abuh buh buh, abuh buh buh bah.'"_ he said using a poor imitation of a British accent and paraphrasing the parts he knew Buffy would gloss over.

"Then I gave him another card and gave the girl one too. But all smooth and cool. You know, the opposite of me." He grinned widely as he passed her ingredients for potato salad.

"I'm so happy you're getting a break from the struggling writer thing. Maybe you can finally get some stuff for your living room. So you don't look like such a psychopath." It was an old joke on his eclectic decorative style.

"My furnishings reflect my finances not my mental state." he stated defending his home.

"Sure, is that what you tell the ladies at the bars?" she asked jokingly.

"I meet my girls in alleyways like a civilized guy." was Jacobs wry correction.

Buffy took jars of proffered mayo and became sincere. "I really am glad you got this break. You, living your dreams like this, I kinda envy you." She admitted closing the refrigerator, pickles tucked away.

"That's funny, 'cuz I always wanted a wife and kids one day." Jacob confided to the tiny blonde woman. Buffy gushed warmly at her family oriented young neighbor.

"Oh, Jacob, you're so domesticated." she giggled.

Buffy offered to help unload the rest of Jacob's stuff from the van. They took a short jaunt over to his driveway across the street with the maroon minivan and began unloading the rest of the grocery bags. The writer left the television for Buffy, knowing she would be able to heft it easier than he could.

A blue SUV with a big Puerto Rican flag decal on its bumper pulled into the driveway next door. It parked next to the tall wooden fence that separated the two properties. A heavy set couple disembarked from the front and an explosion of children came out of the passenger doors. Tony DelosReyes and his wife Martha waved at their neighbors. Tony went to his side of the fence to talk as his wife went inside with his kids.

"Hi DelosReyes's" Buffy and Jacob chorused together, Martha laughed as she gave a friendly wave. Tony had thick hair that was cut short, gray streaked his temples. A thick goatee below his chubby cheeks framed his big smile. Tony's eyes were keen and attentive and he dressed like he was coming home from work at his accounting firm. A red and blue stripped tie hanging undone over a white button down shirt could be seen from behind the fence. Tony had lived in the neighborhood well over a decade with his wife. He was friendly with Jacob since the writer had first moved in. Afterwards, Jacob introduced him and his family to the Lehanes. With the rest of the neighborhood predominantly straight and white, Jacob liked to call their three houses the Minority Triangle

Tony was more than a head taller than the wooden divider and could easily speak to Buffy and Jacob over it. He saw Buffy carrying the over-sized television. The flat but bulky frame juxtaposed with her tiny feminine figure made him snort and shake his head, amused. The way her arms were sprawled hugging the black television she looked like roadkill on asphalt. It was hardly the first time Tony had seen her take care of the heavy lifting.

"Yo, Jake! You gonna let a little kid's mom carry that for you!?" Tony asked Jacob, grinning. This was the start of the neighborhood's running gag. After the several physical feats Buffy performed over the years witnessed by her neighbors, Tony and Jacob started comparing her to a kind of Martha Stewart/Chuck Norris love child.

They once saw her spring off the bumper of Tony's Chevy to catch his daughter's lost balloon that was well over a story above them. Another time the tiny blond held down a drunken Jaime O'Sullivan, who would have gotten into a fistfight with another neighbor if Buffy hadn't physically restrained him despite the old man being a couple hundred pounds heavier than she was. Most the neighborhood knew she was strong and agile but the jokes only got more exaggerated with each retelling. Buffy rolled her eyes at the big bellied man. Jacob smiled back happy to participate.

"Man, Mama Lehane's so strong the first step in her steak recipe is to wrestle the bull." Tony gave a hearty bark of a laugh and kept the bit going.

"I heard she makes shakes by threatening the milk!" he added the twinkle in his eye almost made Buffy break her scowl.

"Did you know she irons her clothes by sternly telling them to straighten up?" Jacob asked sincerely. Buffy and Tony both guffawed.

"My favorite one is that the secret to Buffy's potato salad is the blood of her slain foes." Buffy said thoughtfully. Jacob and Tony looked at one another. Neither had heard that one before.

"Who came up with that?" Tony asked.

"Oh, it was me." Buffy admitted cheerily and headed into Jacobs kitchen hauling the big television. Her neighbor's just shook their heads amused at the little blonde woman.

Jacob invited Tony inside but the big Puerto Rican begged off to be with his family. Jacob said his farewell and went inside of his kitchen. There Buffy stood beneath a metal device that hung from the ceiling. Wires partially wrapped around it like black vines.

"I don't know how to make your robot arm hold the TV." She made a confused scowl and looked to Jacob who grinned at her. He had her hold the big plasma screen while got a screwdriver from a junk drawer and reattached a metal housing to its back. The housing let the articulating arm firmly hold the television in place and could be swung about and be re-positioned easily.

Buffy examined his kitchen while she held up the big screen. It seemed like an everyday, normal kitchen. Ignoring the giant television that attached to a tan mechanical arm that hung from the ceiling near the far wall over a breakfast nook, it was totally mundane. Jacob once told her he liked to watch television while he ate, which always made Buffy amused. Then she had a thought about his living room.

"Since you do most of your living in your kitchen, what _are_ you going to do with your living room when you fix it up?" it was a casual question with little thought behind what he planned to do with the uncountable stacks of books in the other rooms. Jacob's eyes grew big and twinkled excitedly. His look showed her that he put a great deal of thinking behind his answer.

"When I finally get enough cash? I'm gonna buy as many matching bookcases I can get and try to put all my books in 'em. Not the cheap Ikea stuff either, real wood." he became silent, lost in the imagery in his own mind. "The whole house, bookcases are gonna line my walls."

"You wanna make your house a library?" Buffy almost yelled.

"Yah, kinda stupid, huh?" Jacob replied sheepishly.

"No! It's not stupid at all." Buffy smiled sweetly at the young writer and became nostalgic, "I spent a lot of time in a library during high-school. Giles was actually the librarian there."

"That's how you met?" Jacob became curious. He met Buffy's adopted father several times and the man already dressed like a librarian, it made sense he used to be one.

"Mmhm, even gave me a book and everything the first time I met him." Buffy nodded and Jacob finished screwing in the metal plating. Despite the robot arm, the stacks of books, and the crazy person decorating, she really liked Jacob's home. It may not be the most normal, but it was a space adorned by a normalcy that she secretly coveted. Buffy let go of her grip and the metal arm kept screen aloft. Jacob batted at the arm around to test its security, it swung with a staggered motion. He nodded, satisfied at his work, double-checked his effort and his cellular phone began playing the Jeopardy theme music. He checked the caller ID and saw it was a number he didn't recognize. He answered it despite.

"This is Jacob Turner." He answered crisply, his professional voice reflexively replacing his every day one.

Buffy stepped out onto the backyard porch to give Jacob some privacy. She heard him agreeing to go somewhere and hoped it was work related, since she knew he needed it. Also, a good guy like Jacob deserved a few good breaks. He was a regular guy trying to make it in the regular world and people like him were the reason did what she did. Regular people were the reason she had to memorize eight names in her kitchen. And she was glad he lived his life oblivious of the dark, horrible place that was her world.

Her face clouded as her thoughts returned to files in her kitchen. New watchers needed to be trained, trainee-slayers needed to be tested. Duty, as it always did, called. And it didn't stop no matter how many neighbors she helped. Normal had to be put on hold while she handled bat-shit crazy.

Her train of thought was interrupted by Jacob loudly singing the theme-song from The Jefferson's. Buffy smiled as she heard the backdoor behind her open and close. Turning, she was graced with the sight of Jacob dancing in place while singing the old tune.

_"We're movin' on up! _

_Movin' on up! __To the Eastside,_

_To that deluxe apartment in the sky"_

The enthusiasm on the writers face was enough to shake Buffy out from the joyless matter in her mind. She laughed as the young writer danced in place and explained the phone call to Buffy.

"One of those guys I met want me to come around and look over some stuff. They're sending a car to get me now." He spoke evenly while his body moved to music in his head. His shoulders bounced and his arms made rhythmic motions.

"Man, today is such a good day!" he said throwing his arms out over his head, the dancing abandoned for the moment. Buffy smiled wide, she was proud of Jacob. He turned his head to Buffy and suddenly started to do The Robot.

"I wanna take you and the Faith unit out for dinner tomorrow. My treat." He said as he kept his arms bent and stiff though moving animatedly. "Answers in the negative will not compute." He finished with a cartoonish electronic voice and Buffy gave him hearty laugh. It was the first time she laughed like that in a while. Jacob was pleased with it as he noticed that the blonde half of his two favorite neighbors had been more than a little morose lately. While Buffy had never been overly exuberant, these days she always seemed a little sad or maybe just stressed. He wanted to spread his celebratory mood.

"Well, alright, Jake-bot. Since you put it that way, we'd love to." A warm smile graced her words as she accepted the dinner invitation on behalf of her wife.

She returned home after giving him a congratulatory hug and sat alone in her kitchen. It was twilight and the ambient brightness of the day dimmed to a dull grayish hue. The warmth she received from spending time with her neighbors was fading along with the sun. Seeing the stack of files on the recently deceased returned her to her grim duties. The sun had completely sunk into the horizon and the moon peeked out from where it slept in wait. The color of the oncoming night matched her thoughts.

She missed her wife and son.

* * *

Jacob waited. It was well passed the hour Mr. Wesley Wydam-Price had told him the car would arrive. It was dark out and he sat on his porch wearing a blazer, slacks and nice dress-shoes. His tie was gray and scarlet for his school colors. Go Buckeyes, he thought passingly watching another car drive by with no indication of stopping. Lights from the DelosReys's and the Lehane's homes would turn on and off indicating the life inside those houses. He heard the loud chatter of Tony's family next door and became nostalgic for his own family in New York.

Another car passed by. He checked his smartphone and saw Jeopardy was about to come on. He decided that waiting outside like a chump was not better than solving trivia clues. Thumbs began sliding over the screen as he got up. For propriety's sake, Jacob wanted first to call Mr. Wyndham-Price back to inquire about the awaited car. The other side rang and rang and rang and voice-mail.

"This is Wesley Wyndham-Price, I am sorry for being unavailable but if you..." Jacob ended the call when a blue European sedan pulled up to his curb faster than it should have.

A girl, no a woman, hopped out of the front passenger side and crossed his front yard in long easy strides. She turned her head left and right with each step scanning the neighborhood. She stopped in front of his porch steps and looked at him sternly. Her eyes were brown and steely. Even in the coming night, those twin orbs were obvious in giving him measure. Her hair was pitch black and her imposing stature was not lessened by her slim frame.

She wore jeans, boots and a closed leather jacket over her top. It had a slight bulge on the left under her armpit.

"Jacob Turner?" her voice matched her the look she gave him.

"Can I help you?" Jacob asked casually and the lack of an affirmative seemed to agitate her.

"Mr. Wyndham-Price asked us to get you. Sorry for the lateness, something popped up." there was no sincerity in the apology but Jacob dismissed it. He grabbed a leather briefcase by his seat, it contained his research and source material on the tablet article he had written several months ago. He offered his hand to the woman as he stepped off the porch.

"Hi, its nice to be working with you. I'm Jacob Turner." it hung there as the woman took a step back and then turned back to the car.

"Gina." she called over her shoulder then stepped up to the still running vehicle to open the rear passenger door. Jacob stood there a moment before he realized she was holding it out for him. Jacob double stepped over to the sedan, nodding a thank you to the woman. The door closed shut and a familiar face turned to greet the young writer.

"Hey, cutie! I didn't think I'd see you again so soon." her sweet smile, her freckles, her bright blonde hair made the hour wait worth every second. Jacob smiled back. It was the girl he met earlier, she seemed prettier to him up close like this. He had to be smooth.

"Hey, it's nice to be working with you. I'm Jacob Turner." his proffered hand was given a strong and firm shake.

"Lynn MacIntyre. Go Buckeyes." knowing her name made Jacob smile wider. Gina gave the driver a quizzical look and they drove off into the night.

Silence rode with them till they reached a red light at the intersection of a main road. Lynn hit her turn signal and the click noise replaced the quiet.

"It's weird hearing your last name." the black haired woman commented. Lynn chuckled in response but didn't say anything.

The drive was uneventful and took them less than half an hour. They traveled north, north-east from the upper-middle class homes of Shaker Heights, where he lived to Superior Avenue. Abandoned buildings lined the thoroughfare, newly constructed and barely maintained properties alternated the tone. Success and failure leapfrogged the sights of the drive until they turned into a smaller street. They parked in the lot of a large two story building across the street from a mechanic.

_"Damn I went to school to get out of the ghetto." _Jacob thought as he got out of the car. The neighborhood was old and semi-rundown. Overgrown grass on an empty lot was lit brightly by the white of the moon and the yellow of street lamps. It was a contrast to the deep dark hues of the summer night.

The building Jacob was led towards ran down the length of the block but stopped by the parking lot of a corner deli. Two other businesses were meant to occupy the rest of the building but were probably abandoned. Two doors closest to the three people were flanked by two windowless walls. The first door seemed to be a business entrance. The second double doors stood at the center of their portion of the structure. On its second level balconies hung over the walls like gargoyles in the night and the red brick face darkened the building ominously.

A well lit, white awning over the smaller door was a welcome sight in the dark. On it in thin black letters "Angel Investigations." Jacob became thoughtful of what kind of people were his new potential clients. He entered the single door behind Lynn and Gina. Entering a brick walled reception area he saw a petite teenager manning the desk in the corner of the room. Wild frizzy hair was held down with a tie, and her dusky complexion was several shades lighter than Jacob.

"This the guy?" Jessie asked with her eyebrows perking upwards. "He looks like Iman Shumpert."

Jacob bristled, mostly because he really did look like the New York Knicks pointguard. He disliked the basketball player solely on the grounds that he was often compared to him. The racial implications and stereotypes that it brought up also left him uncomfortable._"Just a big black guy, even to little black girls."_ he mulled but remained professional.

"Hi, its a pleasure to be working with you. I'm Jacob Turner, Shumpert's is a couple inches taller." He hated that he knew the guys stats too. Jessie could sense his slight discomfort and became overly friendly trying to compensate.

"Hey, I'm Jessie. I can walk you to Wes." She smiled and gave him a handshake that was light but firm. She turned to her squad-mates, passing them messages from their superiors. "Wes wants you two up front. Illyria's out getting avocados, you two are making guacamole." she indicated to Gina who nodded. The two girls switched spots with Jessie behind the desk, Lynn giving Jacob a look over her shoulder as she walked over to the desk. He gave her a small wave and a sad look as she walked away. A coy smile was what Jacob received in return. He half followed the pixie of a girl away from his sneaky-beauty.

"Bye, Jacob." Lynn sang as she sat on the edge of the desk. Gina rolled her eyes.

The young writer was led down a short corridor to a room lined with books in bookshelves. The man he met earlier that afternoon was deeply engrossed in an ancient looking tome he held in his hand. Standing by one of two desks evenly spaced across the room, was another young blonde woman, but not like Lynn's hair. It was darker and short unlike Lynn's long. Jacob dismissed the musing and readied himself for work.

Not-Lynn stood over the chair closest to Wesley Wyndham-Price. She traced her finger over the screen of an electronic tablet. A mask of complete boredom covered her face and she absently looked up to see Jessie lead Jacob in.

"Wes." was all the blonde woman said and the older man looked up to see the two enter. A big grin was given to the two and made his way over.

"Mr. Turner. Its good to see you again. I'm glad you came." he offered his hand and Jacob took it with a shake. "I was hoping you could help me with my research." Closer now than he hand been in the alley when first met, Jacob could clearly see Wesley's scar on the left of his neck. No longer in the gray shadows of a setting sun but in the brighter lights, the thin, long, and pink tissue was stark to suddenly notice. Saw it in his periphery and willed his eyes not to give him away.

"Mr. Wyndham-Price, I'm just glad to be putting my degree to use." Jacob addressed the Englishman professionally.

"Please, just Wesley or Wes is fine. No need for too many formalities." he offered Jacob a seat at the other desk which was clear of the clutter that occupied the first. Wesley turned to Denise. "Could you please fetch the suitcase that was brought back?" and the girl was off with out question leaving Jacob, Wes, and the short girl named Jessie who found a comfortable place on the edge of the desk to lean upon, in the room. Wes turned to Jacob somberly. He studied the young man for a moment and Jacob sat there awkwardly.

When they had spoke on the phone, Wesley explained that they had procured the missing Vindolanda Tablets. Wesley's own Latin was passable but the tablets were written in a Latin he had never seen. The Englishman may had been a polyglot but it was mostly demonic languages that he was fluent in. With Dawn Summers, their go-to expert on ancient writings, handling a different department temporarily and no other translator available at the moment, Wesley had to outsource. So Jacob Turner was called, and since he had introduced himself as somewhat an expert on these artifacts it was almost serendipity. Hopefully he could decipher the wooden slates and give Wesley what ever he was looking for.

After a few moments of idle chitchat and Jessie not bothering to participate, Denise returned carrying a standard sized metal briefcase. She opened it in front of Jacob allowing him to see five ancient brown wooden slates marked with the flourished lettering of the era. With the briefcase now wide open and resting flat before he hesitantly reached out with his hand as though to touch them but hovered a palm over one instead. He looked to Wesley, awe in his eyes.

"Three hundred B.C." he exclaimed with a whistle. "I've never seen anything as old as these things. Can I touch them?" He asked like a child, his exciting mounting.

"By all means, Mr. Turner." Wesley motioned for him to and carefully, ever so softly he ran a finger down the edge of one. He could feel where the wood frayed and its material was barely holding on. They looked fragile but felt mostly sturdy despite the wearing. He exhaled a breath he did not know he was holding. Jacob was excited, this was better than Christmas. He put on his game face.

"From first glance, it looks like the language is a composite of the standard Latin and a Celtic-Saxony dialect the locals used." He glanced at his leather briefcase besides his feet. "I think I've got some text samples on it." he bent down to reach in his bag. He pulled out a black binder and when he straightened upright, he saw that the world beyond himself and the chair he sat upon was blue. Jacob's eyes went wide. He slowly scanned the room turning his head left to right. He could plainly see Wesley calling out to him though he could hear nothing. He reached out and felt something solid, and pressed his hands against it. It felt cold and smooth like glass.

"Hello?" Jacob said weakly. The image of Wesley tinted in blue picked up the other chair in the room and raised it over his head. He brought it down smashing it against the barrier ineffectively. Chair parts flew off across the room, still no sound was made. Jacob stayed seated as if paralyzed. On the other side of the blue barrier Wesley yelled again.

"Mr. Turner! Can you hear me?" he enunciated each syllable hoping he could illicit some reply from entrapped young man but Jacob simply sat there wide eyed. Gina and Lynn burst in to the room guns and daggers drawn having heard the the smashing of a chair.

"Whoa! What the hell is that?" Lynn exclaimed pointing at the huge blue orb that floated over an open suitcase. Lowering her pistol, she squinted and then recognized the figure inside of the sphere. "Holy shit is that Jacob in there?" she was yelling now and here eyes were wide like saucers. Jessie nodded absently at Lynn's frantic question, she was transfixed with the floating prison. Wesley frowned, this was going to be a real hassle, he thought.

"He touched the tablets and a moment later, this." he explained and gestured to yet another sprung trap. "I can assume his touch activated some sort of entrapment spell. The barrier is pretty solid though I'm loathe it test it any further, who knows what may happen if we push it too hard." A sigh escaped from his lungs, he knew what needed to be done. Pulling out his smart phone he began thumbing the screen deep in thought.

"Who you callin', Wes?" Jessie asked. Wesley didn't answer her but kept the phone to his ear. A moment of silence and he began speaking into the receiver.

"Hello, Amy? It's Wesley, we need a witch."

* * *

A/N: Story boarding is hard. I started writing this story on a whim and now its as though I have barely any control as to where its going. Coming up with an even flowing thread of a coherent plot line makes me want to eat ice cream then nap. Please, anything I could doing differently or any words of advice are welcome.

Also, thank you very much for the reviews. Appreciation is better than ice cream.


	5. Chapter 5

Time Frame: A decade after both BtVS & AtS finales.

Rating: T-Mature (cuz Faith still curses like a sailor)

This story contains several gay relationships, consider yourselves forewarned.

Pairings: as of the moment, only B/F, D/X and Wes/Ill are planned. More may eventually follow.

Final Note: This is my first fan-fic, reviews, beta reads and constructive criticism are all welcome.

Legalities: All B:TVS characters are that of the Mighty Whedon and his glorious intellect. This work is meant only in celebration and nothing ulterior.

* * *

Chapter 5

Moonlight was cast down a clearing in a forested area. The cloudless night allowed easy sight of the melee below. Faith jumped from the ground avoiding erupting roots that exploded beneath her trying to snag her limbs. A white t-shirt with a beer logo emblazoned on its chest fluttered as she sailed backwards airborne. Faded blue jeans hugged her legs below an army-green utility belt and a holstered silver revolver. A black scabbard sheathing a machete was strapped to Faith's back. Her black boots landed besides a woman with dirty-blond hair with a dull thud.

The blond woman wore dark-blue jeans and a black blouse buttoned up to her neck. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, furthering her severe look. Afloat just above her right shoulder was a teenager that would be considered average if not for the fact he hovered nearly six feet high over the forest floor. A strong summer breeze swept through night in forest property of the newly purchased Cleveland manor. His loose light-brown hair was blown about along with his once neat dress-shirt and khakis. The tie around his neck flew like a banner. And as the wind blew through leaves in the forest around them, it almost sounded like a roar.

Monstrous trees with jagged clawed limbs and legs like crabs crawled towards the slayer and the witches. The blond woman spoke a quiet word and leaped high in the the air weightlessly. She slowly floated backwards safe from a second group of grasping root that shot out the ground faster than she liked. Faith rolled away drawing her machete and slashed at vine-like tendrils that tried to impale her. Then, she jumped again feeling a slight shake in the ground before another volley of root-spikes burst out below her. The spikes did not recede like the other times but grew taller and thicker. Jagged thorns sprouted from the fast growing plants. More grew surrounding the tree demons into a high wall. Taking two more leaps to dodge more murderous plants, Faith took a heart beat to look over the battle.

Behind the impromptu barrier were the tree monsters hunching low with their limbs shoved deep into the dirt. The deadly roots were forcing them back and the wall protected the four wooden monsters from direct melee. In the center of the barricade sat a black cauldron. That was where Faith and the group stood before being attacked. The two witches and the slayer were trying to clear the surrounding forest of the malicious energies that seemed to emanate from the immediate area around the large iron pot. A purity ritual was performed but instead of the good things you'd expect from a purity ritual, Faith watched the cauldron burst into blood red flames. Then, when the hellish fire subsided, the cauldron swelled like puffed cheeks and vomited out four arboreal monsters.

"Kid, make me a hole! Amy, cover me when he clears it!" Faith shouted as she landed in a crouch. Amy, the witch produced a slip of paper covered in blue lettering that started to shine brightly in the night the more she seemed to focused. The young warlock, still aloft, held out his palms towards the wall of demonic vines and began to chant. Faith clutched her weapon, her smile was bright and her eyes shone in moonlight. She loved a good fight.

"Now!" the slayer shouted and charged headlong at the bramble wall.

From above her, the warlock lowered his palms as he watched Faith run. The portion of wall directly before her flattened. The loud cracking sound of crushing plant life was near deafening. The force kicked up a light cloud of dirt in its wake. The gap created was more than enough for the slayer to dash through. Beneath her feet she could feel a familiar tremble in the soil. Roots like wooden stakes exploded from every direction there was dirt, but shattered into splinters before an unseen barrier.

Amy's paper was glowing a soft white and floated before her chest. The witch held her hands over the slip as though she were protecting a weak flame. She whispered quietly at it, the spell for the mystical shield surrounding Faith needed a constant mantra be to maintained until it finally burnt out. Faith still had about six seconds before the spell-shield collapsed leaving her vulnerable again.

The black machete that Faith swung at the tree monsters was a wedding present. The short blade was built for a strong downward chop. It was heavy at the tip, which allowed gravity to help do the job. The runes enchanted on its side made the machete almost unbreakable and let it cut through most anything. It left branch and trunk nothing but splintered gashes as she flew through the grassy clearing, felling a demon in her wake. All while persistent spikes continued to crash into the invisible shield surrounding Faith , though fewer this time.

They pressed their attack against the devilish vegetation.

The floating teenager sat cross-legged midair. He now hovered low and a few yards away from Faith. He chanted and pressed the tips of his thumbs and pointer fingers together over his knees. Thorny vines that tried to harm him blackened and shriveled away to dust as the came near. A dim light slowly became visible around him. A deep frown could be seen on Amy's face. The blond witch sighed as the paper containing the shield spell disintegrated into dust.

"Shield's down, Faith!" She yelled and weightlessly, she leaped high above the trees giving her a vantage at surveying the fight. Amy took a moment to watch Faith dodge wooden claws and hack at the demon-trees with her enchanted machete. One was left just a stump scurrying around and three more stood before the slayer. She saw the boy no longer hovering but sitting upon the forest ground. The grass and plants around him turned a sick brown and his was face screwed into a determined focus.

Above the sound of chopping wood and rustling leaves, where the grunts of violence were slightly muted, moonlight hit Amy Madison's face as she wove her hands in the air, casting a spell.

Faith felt the magicks fall off her skin before she heard Amy's warning. She began leaping away defensively, her recklessness abandoned after being left vulnerable to being impaled, though the roots came less and less. Faith saw it was because they were withered away by the witch floating above. The demon trees seemed to sway unsteadily, almost as if in pain and paid Faith no heed. The slayer took her opportunity to start hacking away harder at roots and limbs. The trees were not so thick that several hard chops with the enchanted machete couldn't separate treetop from tree trunk. The wall of thorn and bramble began to blacken and wilt as another monster died by Faith's short blade.

The root-spikes stopped coming completely and Faith noticed Amy float back down from above them. The slayer charged at the remaining pair of tree demons, her machete's edge glinted in the moonlight. She rolled under a swinging claw and came out hacking at the thing's legs. She called over her shoulder to Amy as she severed another wooden limb with a strong swing.

"Hey, so are you stickin' around for the housewarming? It's in, like, a couple nights." After a sidestep and another roll later the slayer continued her hospitality to the witch. "I mean, I heard the place's got hot water and lights again so you and the kid could just crash there if you need'ta." Another branch was chopped with the machete and Faith swung overhead coming down hard on her wooden target, almost splitting it through.

"I don't know, to be honest." She turned to the young teen who was huffing, his shoulders moved with his hard breathing. Sweat covered his brow and his light brown hair seemed much darker than before the fight.

"Joey, how are you doing? You threw out some dark stuff back there." Another deep breath from him and the warlock named Joey replied with an assurance, a deep fried country accent smothered his words as he spoke.

"I'm okay, Miss Madison. I just thought that an entropy field would be a good idea against plant life."

The warlock wiped the moisture away from his face. It wasn't that big of a problem, thought Amy. And it was a great idea on his part. A lot of other magickers would have used something elemental, like lightning, fire or ice on the monsters. Instead, Joey used a simple withering spell and pulled it over himself like a cloak knowing that the roots would attack anything that was stationary first. His spell malleability and fast analysis of situations were the reasons Amy took Joey out tonight. But entropic magicks were a little too close to death magicks for her taste and Joey, being her star pupil needed to be kept far from of those darker places as much as possible. For everyone's good.

"Aw, come on Ames, it'll be a riot! You and B can bust out cheer-leading outfits for ol' times sake!" Faith exclaimed, ducking under a jabbing thrust from the final arboreal demon. She came up with her machete slashing upwards severing the offending branch.

"To be honest, Mr. Madison, I wouldn't mind staying a little longer." Joey confessed as he walked casually towards the large black cauldron that the group had come to disenchant. With the remaining demons attention solely on Faith, he went unimpeded. Joey tossed a small quartz into the iron pot and spoke a word.

"Expurgo."

The young warlock watched a puff of smoke rise from the cauldron and then envelope it whole in gray wispy tendrils. The smoke took the shape of the black metal pot then quickly receded back into its wide opening. Another small cloud was belched out and then nothing. Faith frowned a little disappointed watching the anticlimactic spell.

"What you meant to say is that the black chick in Wes's team is a hottie." Faith chimed as she hacked into the trunk of the tree demon. Another solid swing and the demon tree was properly chopped down. "And you'd like one more night to try to put them Georgia charms on her!" she accused with a mock southern accent.

"Jessie is part African-American and Filipino, Mrs. Lehane." Joey corrected the slayer garnering teasing looks from both women. He blushed besides the now mundane empty hunk of metal.

"See Ames? Even the kid wants to stay. The thing's Thursday so you can leave and be back down south by Friday night to relax into the weekend." Faith reasoned with the witch.

"It's not that I don't totally want to, it's just..." Amy let the sentence trail unsure how to end it.

"You just don't think people want you there." Faith finished for her. Amy rolled her eyes at the blunt words that she was trying to skirt around. "Well, I can say you're wrong since I'm gonna be there and I'm the one inviting you." the slayer added and Amy threw her hands up in frustration, nothing she was saying was getting through to Faith. Joey raised his eyebrows at his mentor. To him, Amy Madison was always the picture of composure. To see the slayer push the witch's buttons was almost entertaining.

"Do you know what I did to Willow?" she demanded from Faith, almost violently.

"Yah, you made her look like the guy who killed Tara." Faith answered evenly. Joey's eyebrows perked at the revelation. It was no secret to the covens that Willow Rosenberg and Amy had past tension, this was the first he heard where it came from.

"I didn't just make her look like Warren, Faith." Amy replied quietly. "The spell I cast, it would have eventually turned her into him mentally. I was trying to turn her into the thing she hated most." It was a petty act of a girl who was jealous of another's power, which Amy was ashamed of. Even after such a long time. She was comfortable confessing this in front of her student. She had nothing to hide about the missteps in her past.

"So what? I punched B's mom in the face after I slept with her boyfriend and that ain't even the worst." Joey's eyes went wide. He sure was learning a lot about the senior council members tonight. The warlock stayed silent and listened to the older women.

"And you know what I got for it in the end?" Faith asked her hands resting on her cocked hips. Another eye-roll from the witch was received.

"You two got married." Amy conceded.

"We got married." Faith repeated as she sheathed the machete she waved around as she was speaking.

"And if you're still that worried over somethin' that happened, like, a dozen years ago, I'll let you in on somehin' of the more current variety." She offered walking closer to the witch and began speaking softly so Joey couldn't hear them. "Willow threw out your name when we needed another witch for the Georgia coven." Amy's eyes went wide. She had always assumed that Willow had held on to the justified animosity she felt after the hex Amy had cast on her. But to know that it was Willow who suggested her of all people to work and teach in a coven she created herself. To have been asked to work with Buffy's crew so many years ago was a huge surprise.

"I thought she hated me." Amy confessed softly.

"Well she don't. I ain't sayin' she loves you either, but at the very least Ames? Red respects the shit outta ya and your work." Faith admitted the last sentence at a normal volume allowing Joey to ears privy to the words. Willow's name and title was a big thing among the newer Wiccans and it didn't hurt for Amy to be publicly backed by the famous Red Witch herself. It reinforced Amy's position as a coven Mother and might even give her some more repute with them.

Faith really did want her to come to the housewarming as well. Joey saw the softening of his teacher's posture, he became suddenly hopeful.

"Listen, just come alright?" Faith asked to a frowning Amy. Before the witch could start, Faith continued speaking. "If it still ain't your thing then take off early. No one harm in just a couple hours right?" Amy considered her words but a familiar chiming came from her back-pocket before she could come to any decision.

Joey stretched out some of the exhaustion from his body. Spell casting was a feat of stamina that he was only just building up and the fight really took out a lot from him. He wanted to eat or sleep, either was welcome. Watching the witch produce a cell phone, he stifled a yawn and wondered who was calling. From Amy's tone of voice it was obvious that it was a business call. Faith took out her machete and began to hack at some remnants of the demons trees that she swore she saw twitch while Amy continued speaking on her cellphone. She ended the call and looked to Faith.

"Wes got a civilian stuck in a magic trap. I gotta go help him." she told the slayer who nodded. "It seems urgent so I'm going to have to 'port over, can you get Joey back to the manor?"

"You don't need any help ma'am?" Joey asked his mentor.

"You're not in any shape to do much, Joey. You look tapped out." Amy pointed out to the young warlock. He was still panting a little and his nice dress-shirt was soaked with sweat marks on his back and armpits. He could only agree dejectedly.

"No prob, Ames. I'll tuck'im in and everything." Faith promised getting a weak glare from Joey.

"Thanks Faith, and yes. We'll come." Amy said surrendering to the slayer's pestering. Joey's eyes lit up at seeing another opportunity to spend time with Jessie, possibly the most beautiful slayer the young southern warlock had ever laid eyes on.

Amy took out a small onyx marble and tossed it into the air in front of her. Instead of falling to the ground it hung in front the witch. Whispering started and ended with strong chanting from Amy. The onyx ball exploded into a bright white mass. Another look to the slayer and the warlock was given.

"Joey, get some rest. Faith, we'll see you at the party!" Amy gave her a small smile and waved goodbye as she stepped through the portal causing it to recede into a tiny white pinprick in the air and disappeared with a gust of wind.

"Wicked flashy exit you guys got." Faith quipped to Joey.

"Yeah, makes the twenty minute walk we got ahead seem pretty dull, Mrs. Lehane." Joey agreed. Faith winced visibly at the use of her last name. It made her feel old.

"Come on, kid, let's get you back. Job's done and I got a long ride home."

"How come you didn't go with her? Don't you live around Wesley?" Joey asked as they began walking away from the clearing in an easy pace.

"I don't wanna leave my bike. And I kinda like the drive, its relaxing." Faith replied. Joey said nothing for a few moments.

"Did you really punch Buffy's mother?" the young warlock inquired, though very hesitantly. He got a sharp look from Faith in return. Her lips turned downward a moment and her features relaxed then she spoke casually. A sudden sensation of fear ran through the boy. He thought that he may have seriously crossed a line and tensed. A moment later Faith answered him.

"I was a real fucked up person back in the bad ol' days, Joey. A lot of shitty decisions were made before I turned straight." she walked a head of the boy while she talked. The warlock relaxed but then confusion flashed across his face.

"But I thought you're gay." she heard the southerner say behind her and Faith gave Joey an incredulous look.

"Oh, you mean...sorry." Joey quit while he was ahead. They walked the rest of the way through the forest in silence.

* * *

Wendy Carlisle tossed and turned in her thin white sheets. Her blond hair was plastered to the sides of her head and she was murmuring incoherently. The dreams of her youth had come again. They were vivid flashes of fangs and claws. Yellow eyes with a predators glare would stare her down. In her dreams she stood firm before them. She did not cry out in fear and stumble backwards, but cried out for battle and rushed into the fray like a soldier. She used to be a soldier herself. In many ways she still was.

In her dreams she was a girl no older than her youngest daughter. Though slim and diminutive, she was like a steel butterfly, flitting about gracefully with strength that belied its fragile form. She felt the strength come from the darkest of places within but there was a light so pure everywhere that she could easily see ahead.

It kept her dreams bright enough to clearly see those that deterred her path. They were beastly and monstrous and innumerable. Feral contorted faces dominated her vision. They were her enemies and they would die by her hands. In her dreams, she was a warrior like none other.

The face she wore was weary from war. Soft green eyes could clearly see the fray to come and welcomed it. She charged into the demonic mass before her clutching the handle of a weapon in one hand hand. It looked like an axe, it's head colored in an unnatural red, its pommel was sharpened into a stake. It was heavy but did not weigh her down. She swung it felling so many monsters at once. But they did not stop coming.

Then by her side, she saw a familiar face. A woman with deep brown eyes, brown hair and a smile filled with love. She was armed similarly. She was clad in all black and Wendy felt safer and more readied for the melee with the dark woman besides her. They moved in unison and the crowd of inhumanity dwindled and faded as the last monster fell to their blades.

Weapons gone, they kissed in the brightness of her dream but she felt an oozing in her hands. She looked down and saw a blade protruding from the brunettes belly but her loving gaze didn't change. Wendy had stabbed her and the lightness of her dream transformed into night. They stood at the edge of a high building, wind whipped through their hair. Blood covered Wendy's hands.

"I wish you loved me." the brunette whispered as she toppled backwards, falling off the building ledge.

Water spray hit her face as the LCVP Higgins Boat craft sped through French waters. The wind was dragging back the blonde tresses that escape from under her helmet. She was Second Lieutenant Summers with the 4th Infantry Division. It was June 6, 1944, her platoon was going to storm Utah Beach. Looking over her shoulder she saw her girls, her soldiers. The youngest was thirteen. Dark skin under her green uniform and black curly hair hung beneath her helmet. Her thumb brushed the rifle she held gently, like a loved ones hand. There was more focus than fear. A Spanish or Asian girl, she couldn't be sure, kept her face calm and her eyes closed. She looked like she might be sleeping. Two blonde girls were holding hands trying to ease their nerves. Personally, 2nd Lt. Summers was scared, but scared never stopped her from fighting. Hell, dying only made her kind loopy and sad. She clutched her Browning Automatic Rifle tighter and snorted. Scared was nothing.

Standing up on her toes, she peered beyond the metal doors of the landing craft. Seeing that they were a more than several minutes from the land, she looked around, left to right. Other Higgins boats slowed their speed in the waters preparing to let the soldiers disembark towards the western most of the beaches ahead. Operation Overlord had hours ago begun and the sands of Normandy were about to be invaded. Readying herself for the fight she breathed deep and exhaled. 2nd Lt. Summers looked back to her girls who were about to go to war.

"Heads up, SLAYERS! This is H-HOUR!" She raised her voice over the motor, yelling the last words out at her platoon. " LADIES, we are about to kick the kraut out of Hitler's ass!" she received a cheer from her girls, even the one that had her eyes closed.

What's a slayer born to do, ladies?!" she barked.

"DEFEND THE NIGHT!" they hollered back thunderously.

"What's slayer trained to do?!"

"KILL FAST, SLAY HARD!"

"Where's a slayer supposed to be?!"

"AT THE FRONT!"

"Double check your gear! We got work to do!" her Staff Sergeant ordered to the mass of girls before her. Ammo was recounted, straps were tightened, shoelaces were retied, iron sights adjusted. They were born to be warriors and they were born to die at war. She was leading them into war barely qualified herself. These girls and weren't all coming back. And if they did, they would never be the same again. That's why Second Lieutenant Summers was so scared. She asked her soldiers one more question.

"Whats rule number one, ladies?" She asked clearly over the din of ocean winds and boat engines.

"DON'T DIE!" The slayers answered crisply, in one loud voice.

The LCVP Higgins Boat, along with about twenty others like it, stopped a hundred yards from the beach code-named Utah. Beaches Sword, Juno, Gold, Omaha, and Point du Hoc, were already being swarmed by thousands of troops. They were trained, they were supported, they were ready. The metal doors of the vessel breached and The German Army began peppering the beach with artillery fire.

"REMEMBER SUNNYDALE!" Wendy cried as she woke, falling from her bed. Both her hands had shot out grasping the air before her. The blankets were twisted around her body from trashing in it. Sweat covered her face and she was panting heavily on the ground besides her bed. A look at the digital clock on her bedside table above her read half past eleven in the evening.

She caught her breath and got up, using the bed for support. Wiping the sweat from her face, she walked to the bathroom adjacent to her apartment bedroom. Lights were flicked on and a chrome handle let water from a faucet run into a very clean white sink.

Wendy's reflection was wretched. Dark bags below her eyes begged for sleep. Hair was plastered with sweat across her brow. She hadn't had dreams like that since she was in her twenties. And to dream about Faith Lehane of all people? That was just weird. Wendy took in very a deep breath and let out a long exhale trying to relax her tense body.

* * *

Jacob was scared. His breathing was steady. His rear-end ached from being in one position for so long. He had been sitting on a chair in front of a portion of a desk inside the blue prison for over two hours air did not grow thin and it should have. His eyes rested on the tablets. His mind couldn't understand what was going on. Jacob was, by the minute, going crazy.

Another person had come, a woman, a little after he became trapped. She spoke to the group for a few minutes then tried to speak to him. He could not hear her. He couldn't hear anything asides from his breathing, his heartbeat and occasionally his own voice.

Moving over the blue sphere in the middle of the room, The woman knelt as she examined it from the bottom up. The sphere was just large enough to surround Jacob and the tablets before him. It went through the desk and the floor in an attempt to form a perfect shape, the witch assumed. They gathered markers and large pieces of paper. The new woman wrote messages on sections of the paper large enough for Jacob to read. Slowly, she communicated with the young man trapped in the blue bubble.

"Amy!" in neat curvy handwriting, a smiley face was also drawn. The new woman pointed to her self. Jacob managed a small smile and a flimsy wave.

"U OK?" and a frowning face was quickly drawn. Jacob shrugged, he was calmer than he was when he first got stuck but Jacob was still at an edge in his brain. They wrote more but it started to become hard to focus for him. His mind was going into overdrive. Things were going on that simply should bubble was going through the desk and the floor. There was no separation in the objects, they existed with in the same place simultaneously. Physics was being broken. It was as though his brain was misfiring.

"He's not responding anymore, Amy. Would you be willing to try telepathy?" Wesley asked standing a few feet away from the sphere. His slayers were milling about the area watching him and the witch work their stuff. Denise and Lynn were glued having never seen real magic at work. Gina played with a knife and seemed the least interested and sat next to an increasingly agitated Lynn. Amy's eyebrows knitted a moment then she watched the young man suddenly start waving. He was trying to get their attentions.

"Or maybe not." Wes quipped, relieved that he gave cognition again. The young writer started to gesture with his hands slowly and deliberately. Amy thought he looked like he was trying to cast spell. Jessie perked up happily and yelled excitedly.

"Ooh! Ooh!" She hopped from her spot in between the two taller blondes landing besides Amy. "He knows American Sign Language! I took that as an elective last semester!" Gina and Lynn both traded looks. They had graduated from the Joyce Summer's School for Girls, where Jessie and Denise still attended. They couldn't remember ASL being offered for electives. The curriculum must have changed since their time there.

"Hi, I learned Sign." she gestured back at Jacob.

"Good, this will be faster. Sorry for zoning out, I was trying to figure something out in my head." his hands flew quickly but Jessie caught every motion.

"Don't worry about it. Was there something you needed to say?" Jessie asked him with her hands. Wesley was quiet during the exchange of hand motions. The younger man had been generally calm throughout the ordeal. Through the blue sphere Wesley could see a look on the young man's face. It was akin to one donned while solving a math problem or a riddle. A process had begun those few moments he was not responding to Amy's messages. One of elimination. Now his mind worked out the only possibility left to confirm.

"Is this magic?" he asked. His big hands moved back and forth like young trees in strong winds. Jessie looked back to her watcher.

"He wants to know if this is magic. Can I spill?" her face was hesitant.

"Can you really do the speech in sign?" Gina asked, she seemed impressed. Lynn and Denise shared her look.

"I'll have to paraphrase though." The teen replied and her hands were a flurry again. She spoke as she signed.

"The world is older than you know..." then trailed off, leaving only her hands to speak with. Several times she made a gesture like antlers on her forehead and bending her pointer and ring fingers forward. Jacobs face was hard to read then, he simply watched along with the rest of them. Several times he nodded as Jessie's hands motioned, then when she touched her neck with two fingers did he throw his hands up to stop her. His hands started moving fast, pointing and guesturing with his fingers violently.

Jessie gave him a cocky grin. She thrust her thumb into her chest and then swirled a finger above her head indicating to the rest of the group. Through the magical barrier they could all see an intensity on Jacobs face as he scanned them all, trying to measure them up to the information they assumed he was given.

"Whatever," Jacob gestured dismissively. There were more important things to figure out, "is there anything I can tell you to help me get out of here?" Jessie relayed his words and Amy spoke first.

"Ask him what he did before the ball appeared. Tell him to be specific." the witch told Jessie and the short teen complied. Jacob took a moment and thought.

"I was taking out writing samples of what I thought might be the tablet's language." The young man gestured to the wooden slates still before him with the rest of the sign language.

"Before that?" Amy asked and Jessie signed to him once again.

"I touched a tablet, the third from the top." he signed back. Amy was silent a few moments and became deep in her own thoughts. Everyone was staring at her as she tapped a fingertip on her lower lip.

"What were you thinking when you touched them?" Jessie translated for Jacob.

"That they were old and breaking apart." Jacob signed from the chair. His legs were starting to ache from being in the same position for too long. Jessie translated his words to the rest of the group and Amy became even more thoughtful. The witch made a "go on" gesture to Jacob indicating the need for more details.

"I thought that they needed some kind of protection against deterioration." As soon as Jessie mentioned the word "protection" Amy and Wesley immediately straightened and donned eureka expressions.

"Can it be that simple?" Wesley asked cautiously to the witch.

"Most spell activations need simplicity, especially if they were made for mundane people to use." Amy answered. She thought a moment. "Jessie ask him to touch the same tablet again but this time think of freedom." Jessie did as she was told. Her hands flew with the message to the young man.

Tentatively, Jacob followed instruction and placed his palm over the wooden tablet he touched before. He closed his eyes and thought of a flock birds in flight, of fish in the ocean. His mind then went to clouds meandering across bright blue skies. He relaxed at these images and opened his eyes. Everything was still blue. Nothing happened.

"Mr. Turner, what did you think about?" Wesley asked through Jessie.

"Flying birds, swimming fish, clouds in the sky." Jacob answered with his hands and was relayed by Jessie. He looked frustrated.

"Those images seem right." Wesley said to Amy who knitted her brows then gave more instructions.

"Tell him not to be general, ask him to think about things that makes _him_ feel free." Amy urged. Jessie repeated the witch with her hands and saw Jacob nod. He placed his hand over the wooden tablets once more and pictured himself writing on his porch as he watched his neighbor mowing her lawn across the street from him. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath he could almost smell a mix of the freshly cut grass and the cigarette his neighbor would smoke as she did yard work. He could hear the sounds of the motor from the lawnmower as he typed away on a laptop.

Another deep breath and he could now smell old books and what maybe Mexican food from afar. His eyes slowly opened and the world was no longer in the sapphire tint he had almost grown accustom to. People smiling populated the office space, worry was gone from their faces and was replaced by relief. The new woman, whom Jacob saw had dirty-blonde hair, held out her hand in greeting.

"Hello Mr. Turner, my name is Amy Madison." she said. Jacob seemed to deflate. Tension left his body knowing he was free again. Still seated, he took her small hand and shook it.

"I'm Jacob Turner. It's a pleasure to be working with you." Gina and Lynn grinned to each other having heard him say those exact words several times already.

"That was really magic?" he asked and Amy nodded. Jacob pointed to Jessie. "She said you guys fight demons."

"At times we deal with the darker sides of our world." Wesley replied with a wry smile. "But that's not the concern at the moment. You were hired to help us find out more the tablets, which you have done spectacularly. So, with that accomplished, shall we discuss your fees?"

"Money?" Jacob stood suddenly and asked in disbelief. "I just got stuck in a magic bubble and all you got for me now is money?" Agitated and standing at full height he seemed intimidating though Wesley didn't seem to notice.

"You don't want payment?" the older man asked sincerely.

"Well, I didn't say that." the young writer muttered, his outrage abated.

"Jacob," Wesley attempted a calming tone, "our young Miss Jessie has given you an explanation of how things are already. There are consequences in learning more than that." Jacob frowned, his curiosity was getting to him. He was never so naive that he thought what he'd seen of the world was its totality. But knowing that he was on the edge of someplace he couldn't conceive and to turn away from it? Voluntary ignorance was not something he was comfortable with.

"I can't just ignore what happened Wesley. I'm not built like that, I need to know." His voice was stern and serious. He scanned the faces in the room. The women and the teen-aged girl all seemed hesitant.

"Knowing the rest could be the end of you." Amy replied quietly for Wesley.

"Does not knowing mean I'm safe?" Jacob debated.

"No." Came from Lynn. "Telling him or not, we still got him into this. We have an obligation now." she gave a pleading look to Wesley. The ones besides her nodded in agreement. Amy was the only female that seemed to disagree.

"Obligation only exists if we chose them to." Jacob saw a skinny woman speaking at the door he came through hours ago. She seemed frail but her posture and speech gave her a regal air. The grocery bags she held were handed to Gina. "We will make guacamole later." She spoke again with out looking at the young woman. "Is he aware of things?" she indicated to Jacob as Gina exited the room with the plastic bags.

"He has the general overview." Explained Wesley. The woman nodded and locked eyes with Jacob. Suddenly a glacial blue spilled down her brown hair and transformed her dark eyes. Jacob yelped in surprise. All of her exposed skin followed suit. She released her full aura to the grimace of those who knew her. Of the women, Amy was shook the most. To Jacob, he could feel nothing but murderous intentions. It was like her shadow was growing larger, as though it was spilling out from her form and blackening the space behind her. The writer could almost see silhouettes of flailing appendages reaching out for him. Jacob's knees shook visibly and his eyes grew wide in fear. Trying to take step back, he stumbled into the chair still behind him.

"I am Illyria." She announced to the now terrified young man. Her voice seemed to boom in his skull. Her height was diminutive compared to his but the aura Jacob felt was enormous. The others did nothing but watch. "I am one of the things you wish to know about. Do you think it still wise to posses this knowledge?" Jacob stammered trying hard to compose himself in the face of the terror he felt. In his very bones he knew she was going to kill him.

"I'd rather die educated than ignorant." he finally managed. Illyria stood over his quivering form but his eyes did not falter.

"He is willful and very intelligent." She acknowledged looking to Amy and Wesley. "If what he was hired for was accomplished I suggest we put him on retainer." Her aura receded and she strode from the room leaving all but Wesley breathing easier. Instead, the Englishman became thoughtful at Illyria's words. Jacob was sweating and Lynn crouched next to him trying to put the young man at ease. The other girls looked on.

"Are you cool? Illyria's a lot to handle." the blonde patted his hand. Watching Lynn squatting before him, he gazed at her for a moment appreciating her tending to him.

"She wasn't human." Jacob stated. Lynn could only smile weakly.

"No she wasn't." she agreed.

"She is a demon, Jacob." Wesley explained. "One of the few friendlier ones in fact."

"That was friendly? It felt like she was going to eat me." exhaled the younger man.

"Yeah." assured Jessie who was leaning against the edge of a desk nearest to Jacob. "She never says anything nice about people she first meets." She did call him intelligent and suggest the retainer, Jacob remembered. His breathing slowed.

"Usually its all 'scum beneath my feet' stuff." Denise added quietly. It was the first she spoke since Jacob was released from being trapped. She was silent during the whole time.

Wesley went to one of the desks and pulled open the top drawer. He produced what looked like a check book and began writing. "Mr. Turner, the amount I am writing in this check includes hazard pay and a retainer fee, that is, if you will agree to work with us again." With a small flourish he ripped the check out and offered it to the semi-distressed young man. Still seated, he looked to Wesley then to Lynn, then to the other two girls. They were all staring at him expectantly. He looked back to the Englishman.

"You were just trying to convince me to walk away." Jacob pointed out.

"That was before you were praised by one of the most powerful demons in the world." Wesley admitted. Jacob looked back an forth between the the man and the check in his hand. Lynn got up and stood besides the Englishman in support.

"Can I get some things straight before I accept?" he asked hesitantly. Wesley lowered his arm and nodded.

"Somethings, not everything, mind you." The Englishman acquiesced.

"Demons are real." Jacob began looking to the those in the room. They all nodded.

"And you guys fight them?" Wesley gave him a slow nod.

"Magic is real." Amy gave him a yes.

"And you guys are some kind of wizards?" Jacob had a hard time with the last words.

"I'm a witch." Amy corrected. "I've been practicing magicks since I was fifteen." Jacob looked to Wesley for more clarification.

"I am not a wizard either, I have very little magical talents compared to Amy here." he gestured to the older blonde woman. "In fact, besides you, I am the only one in the building with no empowerment at all."

"When you say 'empowerment' I guess you don't mean women's rights." Jacob asked garnering small chuckles from the younger women. He looked at them up and down. "You guys can do magic, too?"

"No, usually only witches or warlocks can work magic." Lynn spoke up from besides Wesley.

"Then what can you girls do?" he said looking to Lynn, Denise and Jessie. The smallest of them answered by jumping on top the desk by Jacob and Wesley. She bent down and pick up Jacob from under his armpits. The tall writer tried to resist but her grip was like a vice. Jessie straightened herself and roughly lifted the young man from his seat till his head was touching the ceiling. He looked down to the faces of Lynn and Denise who seemed amused. Wesley looked a little annoyed. He looked back to Jessie astonished.

"We're slayers." Jessie stated simply before she let go and Jacob landed on his heels with a thud. He was breathless and looked back at Lynn and Denise. Lynn waggled her eyebrows at him playfully. Wesley nodded in confirmation. They watched as he started to pace, mulling the information in his brain. He stopped and turned to Wesley.

"I accept the retainer Mr. Wyndham-Price." he stated firmly and offered his hand which Wesley shook, sealing the bargain. The check was given to Jacob and he whistled at the written amount. "Damn, fighting evil pays pretty well."

"Only just recently." Amy admitted.

"Mr. Turner, unless there are more questions you'd like to be answered, Lynn can take you home." Wesley offered the young man.

Having no more inquiries, Jacob accepted and pocketed the check. Lynn smiled at him and cocked her head to the side motioning for them to leave.

Grabbing his leather briefcase he bade them goodbye and followed Lynn outside to the sedan they drove to get here. The car was started after Lynn got into the drivers side. It was past midnight and the moon was full overhead. Pausing before entering the passenger side of the vehicle he took a deep breath of the fresh air.

"C'mon, Cutie! What're you doin' just standing there." Lynn called from the inside of the car. Jacob, shaken from his reverie sat himself down and shut the car door.

"How strong are you?" He asked as she pulled onto the street and started to drive.

"Are you scared I might hurt you?" she smirked but did not look away from the road. Jacob smiled, he liked the way she spoke it seemed so carefree.

"Would you?" he questioned playfully. They had stopped at a red-light which let Lynn give her passenger a flirty grin. The passing street lights let him marvel at the way her freckles scrunched up at her nose when she did that.

"Only if you wanted me to, Cutie."

They drove the rest of the way in silence, the radio played softly filling the wordless moments between them. They approached Jacob's neighborhood and Lynn started muttering about its familiarity.

"I swear I've seen this place before today." she mused to herself. Entering the more suburban area, the car slowed and from the corner of her eye Lynn saw Jacob had become deep in thought.

"What'cha thinkin' 'bout?" the slayer asked the young writer. His brow furrowed, he exhaled a ragged breath.

"Am I dreaming? 'Cuz with everything that happened..." he bent down and put his head in his hands. Lynn frowned and pulled over to the curb in front of his house. Jacob was hyperventilating now. She rubbed his back trying to get him to calm a bit. He started to take deeper breaths and then sat upright. He breathed through his nose and exhaled out his mouth three times. He looked at Lynn, he was still unsure of reality in general, but being with this woman helped. Her eyes were blue and clear. They locked their gazes on one another.

"If this were a dream would I do this?" she leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. He relaxed into it feeling the slayer against pressed against him. The kiss was firm but soft, just like the way he liked his pillows. Her kissing him was less surprising than finding out about magic and demons.

"Actually, this just furthers my dream theory." he said breaking away from her lips. She laughed lightly and he smiled. He liked the way she laughed. It was starting to be obvious to Jacob that he felt that way about everything that had to do with Lynn.

"I think this is your stop, Cutie." she told him sweetly. Jacob realized he was home as he saw the familiar houses outside the car. He unbuckled and stopped before he opened the door.

"You wanna do something this weekend? You could pick me up and we could see a movie or something?" he offered Lynn.

"You askin' me out?" She asked coyly only to receive a big smile from Jacob.

"I am definitely asking you out." he said with out hesitation. She opened the glove compartment and pulled out a black marker atop maps and other junk. Grabbing his hand she wrote what he assumed was her cell number on his pink palm.

"Give me a call, we'll figure something out." he looked at the writing on his palm and back at the woman in the car.

They exchanged good byes and Jacob turned to walk to his door. Hopping up the porch steps he pulled keys out and unlocked his door. He looked over his shoulder to see Lynn watching him, to make sure he entered his home unharmed. He gave her a wave and she waved back. The car drove off and Jacob entered his home. He made a beeline to his bedroom and did not bother to change as he dropped his briefcase on the floor and collapsed on his bed. He fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

* * *

A/N: The last part of this chapter was hell to write. Was the dialogue in the end clunky and awkward? Is the pacing of things alright? Too fast Too slow? Any words of advice are welcome. Just ya'know...don't be a jerk about it.


	6. Chapter 6

Time Frame: A decade after both BtVS & AtS finales.

Rating: T-Mature (cuz Faith still curses like a sailor)

This story contains several gay relationships, consider yourselves forewarned.

Pairings: as of the moment, only B/F, D/X and Wes/Ill are planned. More may eventually follow.

Final Note: This is my first fan-fic, reviews, beta reads and constructive criticism are all welcome.

Legalities: All B:TVS characters are that of the Mighty Whedon and his glorious intellect. This work is meant only in celebration and nothing ulterior.

* * *

Chapter 6

Eggs fried as coffee began to drip. Bread patiently toasted as it lay spread by fours in the toaster-oven. Then anorchestra of smells and sounds. As the soft sizzle of sunny-side up mingled with the aroma freshly of brewed Spanish Gold, enter the crackle of thinly sliced pork belly.

It's scent, like thunder, roused the sleeping slayer above. She lay undercover willing herself back to sleep for just a little longer. A smell wafted from deep in the recesses of her kitchen. It crept up wooden steps and over long rugs. It traveled down a hallway dotted with picture frames filled with laughing faces and hugs, pictures of people living and gone. It seeped through the cracks of bedroom doors. Tan cotton blankets were no defense against the assault on the nose. Faith breathed in deep from below her dark-brown hair and thin bed-covers.

"Bacon." came a murmur from beneath the sheet.

Downstairs, Buffy heard her bedroom door close and smiled knowingly. Its like hitting a gong, she thought. In jean cut-offs and an over-sized Chargers t-shirt, the lithe blonde moved about the bright kitchen. Her hair was tied back as to not impede her sight. Deftly, almost dancing in the sunlight, she cooked a breakfast fit for a slayer by a slayer.

Her cooking skills had been a running joke for years among her family, but after making breakfast became routine for her wife and child in the mornings, she had perfected it. At least just breakfast. She was pretty sure a pot roast could still beat her in a fair fight. Several cups of coffee, a half dozen variously cooked eggs, a stack of buttered toast and two bran muffins sliced down their centers and slathered with jam. Buffy beamed with pride.

The scrambled eggs were fluffy, the over-easy eggs didn't run. Toast was on the light side of brown. The coffee was set out to cool, so when drank, it would not scald the tongue. The bacon was crispy and chewy at once. She had tea and a bowl of fruit and a serving of oatmeal set aside for herself but knew she would eat most of the muffins and share some eggs and bacon with her wife.

Footsteps from the stairs prompted the happy cook to turn and see her groggy wife yawning with a smile on her face. Mussed shoulder length brown hair covered her head. Red pajama bottoms with black trim below a black and red trim tank-top adorned her sleepy form.

"Damn, you are the best wife ever!" Faith exclaimed through her yawn. The brunette went to hug her wife and picked her up a little. Buffy squealed happily. Faith set her down and they kissed deeply, eliciting soft moans from each other. They broke their intimate greeting but stayed clinging to each one another. Faith was a little taller than the blonde and her muscles were more defined than her wife's slim frame.

"Good morning my love." Buffy greeted as she placed a small peck on Faith's nose.

"What was that for?" the brunette asked as she scrunched her face at her wife.

"Cuz nothin' like bacon." Buffy gave her a sly smile and broke their embrace. She led her wife to a prepared seat where utensils and a glass accompanied an empty plate. "I make you food! You eat now!" the blonde spoke in a childishly demanding tone. Faith smiled at the giant meal before her.

"This is some spread, babe. Whats the occasion?" Faith asked, watching her wife take a seat next to her at their round breakfast table. It was covered with food from end to end, the egg dishes taking up the most space.

"I just missed you yesterday." Buffy pouted a little before blowing on her tea. "Then I tried staying up for you but I fell asleep." Faith had found her on the couch last night and carried her sleeping form to their bedroom. "Seeing you happy now helps make up for sorta." Faith heaped piles of eggs on her plate as Buffy spoke. The brunette regarded her wife a moment before she began digging into her plate. Buffy watched her wife have a bacongasm after her first bite into the fried meat.

They spoke as a suburban married couple would. Things like maybe getting rid of the van, perhaps giving it to Jacob though he may not want to deal with its insurance. New clothes for Nicholas were also discussed because September was a month away. The coming school year loomed closer, the summer was fleeing and Fall was creeping up along with the third-grade. Buffy became excited in the little outfits planned in her mind.

They ate each other's food while conversing. Buffy took bits of eggs and bacon now and then. She also made sure that Faith ate some of the bran muffin and mouthfuls of fruit. Fiber was a good thing at their age, Slayer Healing or not. After eating some spoonfuls of her oatmeal, Buffy took a butter-knife and cut two portions of a bran muffin. She offered one to Faith who made a reproachful face at the piece but ate it in one big bite.

Faith eyed yet another piece of bran muffin her wife began cutting. With a frown she used her hands to ask permission and took it. She knew actively adding fiber to her diet was a sure sign of age. But the alternative, especially after a huge meal like the one she was eating, was simply too horrible to think about it. Anyone over thirty knows that. Another big bite and the whole piece was eaten. Faith, The Dark Slayer and The Quest To Stay Regular, she thought grimly. Faith pushed those thoughts aside and put her mind to spending time with her wife. Thinking happy thoughts.

"Killed a bunch'a tree monsters." She declared proudly. Bits of muffin flew from her mouth to Faith's embarrassment. Buffy gave her a forgiving look as she wiped away the debris. Covering her guilty smile, Faith continued.

"Yeah, the whole thing was supposed to be cake according to the coven people, especially with all the mojo runnin' 'round over the place." _The place_ being the newly purchased manor. A portion of the Georgia coven had traveled to Cleveland to begin creating the mystical wards and shields that would be the beginnings of the magical aspects of the properties security system. All on the behest of Giles.

"Turns out the purity ritual thing we did purified a big ol'metal jug into shootin' out these crazy trees that kept tryin' to ram their branches through us." Faith placed a runny egg on a piece of toast and ate impromptu open-faced sandwich in two bites. Buffy watched her wife speak as she devoured her meal. She happily listened and was patient as those pretty brown eyes would widen and narrow, they were as animated as the rest of her body. Faith spoke with her body and arms and hands. For Buffy, just hearing her voice was nice. Just sitting and watching and listening erased the dark mood she'd been in lately.

"Was it a good fight at least?" Buffy asked knowing her wife well. Faith smiled as she stuffed her face with bacon wrapped in toast. A nod was followed by a big gulp of creamed coffee. She couldn't take black anymore.

"Oh hell yeah! It was pretty fun, a lotta magicks got thrown around on both sides." The brunettes eyes got big, matching her enthusiasm. "They had this vine-wall thing and Amy and her number one kid were all floatin' and they were all zap! Zap! Zap! and the all and these root things that were tryin' to got all stab-happy with us just died." Faith gestured tallness by raising her hands over her head, then made finger-pistols still holding a fork as she finished. "I got to use Red's knife a lot, it was cool."

Buff gave a small laugh as her wife pantomimed the story to her. She gestured for Faith to lean in. The brunette did so expectantly and received a kiss on the lips. Faith tasted of egg yolk.

"You're beautiful, did you know that?" Buffy had seen her wife relax a great deal over the past few years living in Cleveland. Her goofy childish side came out much more often since they moved.

"Yeah, but a girl likes to hear it from time to time." Faith kissed her wife back and went back to her meal. She reached down, took Buffy's hand into her's and placed it on the table. They ate like that for a few moments. A swallow of scrambled eggs and Faith spoke again.

"I invited Amy to the thing tomorrow." She mentioned casually and felt her wife's hand tense in her own. Just slightly, just for a moment. So much for trying to ease that one in unnoticed, Faith thought wryly.

"You've been real invite happy lately." There was nothing in Buffy's tone to indicate her displeasure but Faith had already felt it to know it was there.

"You ain't happy with me askin' her to come." the statement was spoken flatly. Faith continued to eat as she waited for her wife's reply. She watched Buffy take a breath then sigh. Faith saw relaxation return to the hazel eyes she was looking into. She watched her wife play with a piece of cantaloupe in her bowl.

"Are you gonna tell me that what happened between her and Will was a long time ago and that she works for us now?" Buffy scowled at Faith's nod. "'Cuz that sounds like a terrible idea!" Buffy shrilled and then shoved a whole boiled egg in her mouth. She fumed as she chewed.

Faith sighed, she knew this was just a little tantrum that would be reserved only for her. Buffy saw the reasoning in inviting Amy Madison. Her wife wasn't blind. Her wife does get to act like a brat in the privacy of her own home, though and Faith appreciated that. She even found it endearing at times like this.

"Aww, baby! She's been teachin' at the Georgia House for like, years now." Faith mentioned Amy's position in their sister school located near the Georgia-Florida border. "_And _Red was the one that pushed for her to get the instructor slot."

"I know, Faith! I was the one who told that you!" Chewed bits of egg laced with spittle launched along with Buffy's indignation. Faith's mouth split into a huge grin and Buffy gave her an impish smile as they wiped the table with napkins.

"Fine, whatever! Memory Lane, it'll be walked down with Amy. That'll be just loads!" She huffed rolling her eyes a bit at the last sentence. Faith squeezed her hand and gave her a little smile.

"Thanks, babe." Then after anther swallow of coffee, she gave her wife a mischievous look. "So, I was thinkin' we break out the pom-poms for old times sake."

"Oh, no! You don't get bacon and pom-poms for nothing Miss Invitey Pants!" Buffy told a now chewing Faith, releasing her hand from the brunette. Buffy picked up another shiny boiled egg and pointed it at her wife. "Your choice, you wear a skirt to the housewarming or attend all the PTA meetings up to Christmas." Faith's eyes rolled.

"Aw, that ain't fair. I'm just tryin' t'be all hospitable and shit." she defended. "We gotta be, the Georgia coven's bein' all flakey with Will's hiring choices, including Amy."

"What do you mean?" Buffy's interest was piqued. With the number of staff having exploded the last few years, it was difficult for Buffy to know all the in's and out's of company-wide politics.

"They don't respect Amy enough." Faith explained. "Some of the older bags down there don't like that a witch who went dark appointed another witch who went dark." Buffy scowled at that, mostly because she could understand their reasoning. And saying '_But that's different.' _in defense of her friend felt woefully flimsy. Buffy eyed her wife from her seat next to the brunette as she spoke.

"When did you get all shrewd?" the blonde accused Faith, whose cheeks were stuffed with bacon and toast.

"When I do what the ol' Head Ripper tells me to do." Faith said after a swallow. She used the nickname many of their students gave Giles after experiencing his anger. While their school's headmaster was known for his genteel nature and his sometimes awkward demeanor, his rage needed a whole separate title. Using that name was an indicator of how he felt over the situation with the coven.

"He was that pissed at them for that?"

"I think he was more pissed that they can't fall in line. Or haven't been falling in line. I dunno, he just told me to be nice to Ames, make her feel welcome here." Faith shrugged

"Which explains the invites." Buffy said with understanding.

"Well, sorta. The realtor, Wendy? I invited her cuz..." she trailed off as though hesitant. She bobbed her head from side to side and Buffy narrowed her eyes trying to read her wife.

"I wanna draft her." Faith finally blurted out making an awkward face. She looked at Buffy gauging her reaction.

"Faith, The Council doesn't need a realtor." Buffy seemed confused.

"She's a soldier, B. Or was, and she was a damn good soldier from what I found out about her. She's good with research stuff, the info she got for us on the places we were scopin' was on crazy level. It was like reading a military report. And she was the one that told us about the witchy stuff going on around the woods near the manor." Buffy nodded as her wife presented the case for recruiting Wendy.

"You sound pretty sure of her already."

"I gotta pretty good feeling. It's just..." Faith searched for her words.

"You've never tried to recruit anyone." Buffy finished for her wife who could only nod in confirmation.

Slayers were simply found and trained. Magickers and the like always seemed to be drawn to Willow's power and knowledge so there was never any problem looking for them. Watcher's though, were born into the part.

Since the inception of the first Watcher's Council, there were the few of the namesakes that did not come from a long family history of them. This had not changed with the current incarnation either. Only a small handful of non-ancestral watchers had been added since the new council and several of them had since died.

Most watcher positions were legacies inherited from their families. The explosion that killed the previous Council leadership left many orphans who were eager to join the fight. While that lineage ensured many advantages, it was a slow process grooming the upcoming generation. With the death of a watcher and an entire scoobie team from last year, the Cleveland chapter of the council was short on manpower. Recruiting seemed to be the only option now.

"So I figure, maybe show her what's what. Maybe if she gets it front and center she'll appreciate it more y'know? I dunno." A shrug from the brunette punctuated her last two words.

"What kind of position are you thinking for her?" Buffy asked in between bites of boiled egg.

"I was thinkin' maybe giv'er to Graham or Wes for research for a while. Maybe some school counseling stuff first, I gotta ask around." Faith became quiet after sipping more dark brown coffee. Her eyebrows were knitted as she lifted her mug to her face.

There was a great deal of thought that was evident in her musings, Buffy smiled at her wife seeing that. She watched Faith think for a few long moments. She took the opportunity to snatch some more bacon for herself while sipping her tea. Her wife's plate plundered, Buffy reached over to stroke the other woman's hand gently.

"Jacob wants to take us out tonight. He got some work and he's celebrating." Buffy mentioned, setting her cup down on its saucer. Faith made a knowing smirk.

"See, told'ja the kid could take care of himself." The brunette smiled ear to ear while she nodded knowingly. She took a big bite of bran muffin covered with egg-white and yolk.

Her wife stuck her tongue out playfully and received a funny-face in return. Buffy scooted her seat over next to Faith's so she could wrap an arm around her waist. She rested her head on a shoulder and continued munching on fruit. The brunette ran a gentle eye over the little blonde. Sun-kissed arms entangled themselves around Faith.

"You really missed me last night, huh?" Faith asked giving her wife a little nudge. Buffy nodded making a small pout. She nudged back harder then squeezed the other woman with her arm affectionately.

"I love you." Buffy said casually.

"I love you too."

"Skirt or PTA meetings, Faith." Buffy reminded her wife. Faith noticed Buffy had never disagreed to the pom-poms and grinned mischievously. Another piece of bacon was eaten.

* * *

Wendy woke up with a start. The girls were late for school! Wait, no they weren't. They didn't live with her anymore. They were hours away in Cleveland with their dad. Wendy lay back down for a moment and took a deep breath. A turn of her head put her medicine bottle into view. It stood like a tiny amber tower on her black night stand. No nightmares at least. She felt the sheets twisting around her legs, the hair that was knotted and tangled. Or maybe just forgotten nightmares, those are nearly as good.

The dawning sun fought through heavy curtains and left the room gray with a thin streak of sun spearing through the thick material. Motes of dust floated in the single beam, almost shining. The sliver of brightness did little to change the dullness of the room. It was well kept but spartan. Asides from the bed and night stand, a tall dresser-drawer and a full-length mirror stood like sentries in the shadowy space.

She willed herself to a sitting position on the edge of her mattress, the soles of her feet touched warm carpet. Wendy grabbed the medicine bottle from its place and twisted its white cap open. Shaking out just two pills was effort. Four or five would feel better but she needed to be productive. Lots to do. She had to go to her office to finalize paperwork. When around the other realty agents she was timely, polite, and personable. She had to be. Her professionalism was drilled into her. Her professionalism made sure only two pills were swallowed.

The commission she earned on the manor was almost enough to put her two youngest through college. Which might be enough to fix at least some of her failures to them, she mused. She got up to put a bathrobe over herself as she made something to eat.

Coffee dripped into a small four-cup pot. Oatmeal boiled near it in the tiny kitchenette of her single bedroom apartment she'd been living in since the divorce. It was decent in size but sparse in furnishing. A single large eight by eleven picture frame was prominent on a wall.

A happy family of five. A loving husband, two young girls with matching blonde locks of their mother, and a tall brown haired young man with a gleaming smile. Wendy didn't recognize the laughing woman next to the older man.

She scooped a helping of the warm and pasty food into a large bowl placing it next to a larger than average cup of coffee. The bowl and cup rested on a red place-mat with matching silverware, all atop a round clear glass table. It would have been simple fare if not for the black metal shape at the center of the table. Wendy eyed it's squared end. She guessed its weight as she swallowed her oatmeal.

She'd put the gun on the there at least two weeks ago. There was a single nine millimeter bullet in the chamber.

Wendy wanted to see if she was as brave as she thought. Despite leaving the safety off, each day Wendy proved to herself that she wasn't a soldier. That she was a coward. A soldier would've done better. A soldier wouldn't have fucked up in the first place.

The Glock 17 lay there reminding her how weak she was.

"Just till I get my commission check." she thought out-loud. She'd be ready then. Everything will be prepared for her to go. Then she could make sure her family was well taken care of. Maybe she'd try to see them first. She loved them. The medication was kicking in.

She stared at the weapon as she finished her breakfast in silence.

* * *

Jacob eyed the tuxedo hanging in his closet. He pictured himself sitting in an Italian restaurant, eating in it. He smiled but passed on the idea. Maybe another time. Crisply ironed white button-down shirt and khakis slacks? Good choice. Brown tie, brown belt, brown shoes? Smart move. His fresh shape-up was checked in the mirror once more. The nice and even fade on the side of his head made him smirk.

He wanted to use fabulous but his archaic masculinity dictated against it. He settled with classy. Tonight was going to be a picture night, Jacob thought as he mugged at the mirror. A cheesy smile paired with a pointed finger, greeting an imaginary friend in the distance. Too many good things were going his way and he couldn't pass marking the occasion.

He gave a little hop and step to grab a stack of baby blue sticky notes off the tall bureau. Jacob's bedroom was furnished with a full sized bed in a metal frame, besides it stood a night stand matching the dark wood of the larger piece, whose top was covered with a multitude of sticky note packs in colors too many to count. A second stack of black was grabbed along with the his cellphone, wallet and house keys.

Markers were grabbed as well. One, a thin black sharpie and another a silver inked pen. Jacob opened his door to a hallway. The walls were bare and floor unadorned, it was hard to notice a person slept in the room at its end.

Jacob stepped to a space on the wall and stuck a baby blue sticky note on it after scribbling something. A moderate side step later he repeated the process of writing a note on the pad and sticking it to the for his venture into demon research had begun.

Two more blue sticky notes were placed followed by black ones with silver ink written on the paper. They were marks for his cataloging system to be followed up with as soon as he could get his hands on some new material. When he did, they would be stacked up against the wall, which was in accordance to his system.

Jacob looked over the previews notes and judged their distance to be acceptable. He returned the two small pads of paper and markers to their place on the bureau. Patting himself down as he moved, he double checked that all his essentials were accounted for. He tromped down his stairs with enthusiasm. The best part of tonight's meal is not even thinking about the bill. Tonight he was gonna eat like he was rich! That thought alone excited him.

At his front door he triple-checked his possessions and gave his home a final look-over. Satisfied, he exited and hopped off the porch over the three steps leading up. He shimmied across his lawn and made his way across the street to the Lehanes home. Their doorbell was rung and he waited patiently for their answer. Faith answered the door in ripped jeans, a black leather vest was worn over a tight plain white t-shirt and big black shit kicking boots completed her look.

"You're not going out in that are you?" Jacob fussed. "'Cuz you're ruining picture night already."

"Hidey ho to you too, neighbor." Faith answered ignoring Jacob's policing of her fashion. Buffy came up from behind her.

"Honey, your blouse is ironed and you can't wear those pants. It's picture night."

"Did'ja get the skirt ready for Jake? I think he's missing his." Faith asked sardonically, letting the tall writer inside.

"It is picture night." Jacob repeated to Faith sternly, ignoring the friendly bard. "Do you know what that means?" he called to the brunette marching up the stairs.

"That I don't get to wear what I wanna." she called back from the top.

"It means pictures will be taken!" He raised his voiced in emphasis.

"Where are we going?" Buffy asked conversationally, waiting for Faith with Jacob.

"Eugenio's" Jacob answered casually.

"Isn't he still pissed at you for not being able to pay last time?" She asked warily.

"Nah, he loves me. And he's got a sense of things."

"A sense?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah, a business sense." He answered. Buffy remained wary. Several minutes later Faith came back down the stairs her white blouse worn loose and dark jeans under calf high riding boots. The leather vest remained to the chagrin of the tall writer. It was definitely several steps up from what she was wearing before though.

"I guess that's better. We good to go?" Jacob asked the couple. Cellphones were checked and they piled into the van.

"Where we eatin'?" Faith asked from the driver's seat.

"Eugenio's." Buffy told her from her place in the front passenger seat. Faith turned the key and the engine roared to life.

"Doesn't that guy's mom hate your guts?" She asked to Jacob who sat in the first passenger row.

"Nah, they love me there. They got a sense." he answered her.

"A sense?" A touch of confusion was heard from Faith as the van pulled out he driveway and onto the road.

"A business sense." Buffy clarified for Faith who seemed to accept it. They drove to the best Sardinian restaurant in Shaker Heights.

* * *

A bell rang as the door opened to a small cafe area with booths and a row of stools under a counter facing out the big glass window. An oldish, slick haired man looked up from the register. His black t-shirt, tight over his broad frame had flour dusting its side. Jeans were worn beneath an apron with the pizzeria's name emblazoned on its chest.

A few steps behind him a teen-aged girl with dirty blonde hair sat on a stool besides a large metal oven. The smartphone in her hand had all her attention. He was tall and yet as he stretched out his hands in greeting he seemed to grow more.

"Hey, my favorite couple!" He called cheerily at the Lehanes, a shaky Italian accent crept over his words. He gave the tall writer a wry once-over. "Mr. Turner, what can I do for you?" his tone turned flat. The women giggled and Jacob ignored the frosty reception.

"Table for three, Eugenio my good man! With a basket of calamari and a bottle of your better than average wine waiting!" Jacob requested jovially to the hesitant restaurateur who looked over to Buffy and Faith.

"He serious?" He asked jerking his head towards Jacob.

"He got paid." Faith shrugged. Eugenio snapped to, not needing further explanation, calling on the girl behind him who had been ignoring the exchange.

"Mina, get a table for three ready and call a girl out for them." He ordered and the girl did not bother replying as she jumped from off her stool and disappeared out a door behind the counter.

"Jacob! What else can I do for you?" Eugenio's asked warmly. A welcoming smile covered his face as he rounded the register counter and began leading the three to a dinning room beyond the cafe area. Jacob admired the aging Sardinian's business sense.

"Bread-sticks and marinara sauce, _signore_!" Jacob declared with a finger in the air. The women laughed as they followed Eugenio to a corner table past several other occupied ones.

They were led down to a table near a corner a little farther from the other other patrons. Seated, the group was handed menus from an old plumping woman. She seemed to have had appeared from out of nowhere to besides Eugenio. A wizened old eyebrow was raised and she gave her son a skeptical look. She questioned her son on letting Jacob eat here again.

In old Sardinian of course, it would be impolite to let their customers to know they were speaking any ill of them.

"Can he pay?" she asked him in her Italian dialect.

"The man's working again, Ma. He's good for it." Eugenio assured his mother.

"Good, he's too smart and young not to be." The old woman clucked placing bread-sticks and a small sauce dish filled with red marinara at the center of the table. She was thanked and the trio was left to each other while they made their dinner selection over teasing each other in turn. After some minutes a young woman, maybe a teenager, came by to take their order.

Buffy forced Faith to get the salad instead of the baked potato with her pork chop and ordered the chicken meatball alfredo for herself. Jacob decided on baked ziti as he handed back the menus. The waitress was polite and spent more time over Jacob's order than the other two, batting her eyelashes at him as she made sure they were good with their orders.

"I'll be back with the wine and calamari in a second." the waitress gave Jacob a final smile as she turned and left. Buffy and Faith were quick to give him a hard time over it.

"Damn, Jake! That girl is all over you." Faith observed with a salacious tone. Buffy nodded her head in agreement.

"There is major hotness for you from her." Buffy seconded her wife. Jacob frowned a little at Buffy's awkward sentence.

"Oh please, she's like, freshman tops. I'm looking for women now!" His declaration was accompanied by grabbing a bread-stick and spearing into the red sauce. Faith rolled her eyes snatching a pair of the appetizers and offering one to Buffy.

"Jacob told me he maybe met someone yesterday." Buffy brought up, accepting the bread-stick from her wife graciously. Faith's eyebrows raised in interest.

"Yeah? Mighty Jakey takin' a swing at bat again?" The brunette teased. Jacob only shrugged.

"Swing and a hit to first." He confessed. The couple gave each other impressed looks.

"You're baggin chicks on the first day? Way to go Jake!" Faith cheered.

"Wow Jacob, you get her number?" Buffy asked.

"And a date." The writer answered.

"Wait, back up! Explain to me how Mr. Reclusive Writer got all suave all of a sudden? How'd you do it?" The brunette teased. Jacob thought back to last night sitting in Lynn's car on the verge of tears and the pretty blonde doing her best to comfort him from near panic.

"Damn, Faith. I got moves you ain't even heard of." Jacob announced to rolling eyes and feminine giggling.

"Yeah?" Faith challenged.

"Damn right." Jacob returned. "In fact Buffy's lucky I don't put them on you. Leavin' her all heartbroken, it'd be a terrible thing." He shook his head remorsefully. Faith rolled her eyes and Buffy laughed watching the exchange.

"Please, Jake. There's only one person in the world that could handle me and you're too tall to be her." Faith corrected the young writer. Buffy gave her a smile.

"That's me!" she added brightly.

A bottle of wine arrived in a wicker cask along with three glasses. Breaded calamari rings appeared as the red liquid was poured for them. Their waitress was quick to pour the wine, place the food and leave the three to their food.

"You're too short for me anyway." he pointed out.

They drank their wine and made jokes about everything. The appetizers swiftly disappeared thanks to Faith and Jacob. Buffy exercised her restraint, though her laughter came out freely. Jacob took pictures of his friends and the entrees when they arrived. His smartphone flashed and clicked, taking snapshots a little too often. Buffy enjoyed making faces for the camera and Faith tolerated it for the sake of celebration. It was picture night after all.

The conversation went back to the subject of Jacob's new job. He became vague on details but talked about the people he met with earnest. Though he stayed on the subject of a certain freckled blonde that had already given him a nickname.

"So what's the name of the company?" Buffy asked offhandedly, sipping from her wineglass.

"Angel Investigations." Jacob replied. Buffy choked on her wine. Faith instantly responded by taking the wine glass from her wife and offering her a napkin to cough into. She gave Jacob worried glances as she patted the coughing blonde's back.

"Don't work for them!" Buffy blurted out forcefully regaining her breath.

"Why not?" Jacob asked perplexed at Buffy's intensity.

"They're...they're..." Buffy panicked and looked to Faith who could on shake her and shrugged, offering her nothing. "They're dangerous?" She offered weakly. Jacob narrowed his eyes as though trying to interpret her words.

"What do you mean?" he asked carefully.

"I mean..." Buffy stammered trying to fit words together. "I mean, I heard that those people are dangerous."

"They seemed like they could handle themselves, yeah I was okay with that. Alright, one lady scared me to death but they seemed fine." the writer replied politely but with a firm tone. Faith stayed uncharacteristically quiet as she kept working on her pork-chop and umpteenth bread-stick.

"You can find something else! You don't need to work with them." Buffy pleaded but she knew she had chosen the wrong words even before the angry reply.

"What do you know what I need, Buffy?" Jacob demanded, louder than he wanted. Glances were given to the three. His dark skin prevented people from noticing the heat coming over his ears and face. He leaned in. Bending his skinny frame over the table, painfully aware of the attention now on their table. Close enough to speak quietly but emphatically, he continued his defense in a hissing whisper.

"Third century artifacts? Roman era translations? I touched something held by Roman emperors! Where else am I going to get another job like that?" He tried to assuage the blonde woman by comparing Wesley to her adopted father.

"Plus, you'd probably like the guy that gave me the job. He's like Giles-After-Dark with his edgy smart-guy thing going on."

"He's Giles-After what?!" Buffy exclaimed loudly, suddenly standing. "I'm gonna kill him!"

People were openly staring now watching as the chair behind the small blonde almost toppled over as she got up. Faith kept her head low and stuffed her face in to her hands. A exasperated groan escaped her. Jacob was taken aback by her outburst and watched the small blonde stalk off with her purse in tow.

"What the hell just happened? Why is she goin' crazy over this all of a sudden?" Jacob asked clearly confused and agitated. Faith did her best to concisely explain the situation to him.

"Shit's fucked up, Jake." She explained between forkfuls of pork chop. Jacob's face indicated he did not accept her words.

"Don't be an asshole. What's going on?"

Faith drained her glass of wine and refilled it grabbing the bottle at the neck. She took another long drink and set the glass down on the table. Jacob watched her the entire time, their eyes met as

"She wasn't blowin' smoke up your ass when she said that they're dangerous you know?" She tried reading his face and saw what she was looking for. "But you know that already, though." Jacob became slightly uncomfortable.

"Somethin' happen last night, Jake? Something maybe somethin' real crazy?" They were assertions more than questions. Jacob narrowed his eyes at her, doing some of his own deducing.

"How strong are you and Buffy?" Jacob challenged. Faith smirked but showed no amusement. "Can you lift me over your head?"

"Jake, if I wanted to I could punch a hole in your chest. That what you want to hear?" The ice in her words were enough for Jacob to reconsider his line of questioning. He'd felt a lot of things towards Faith Lehane over the years he's known her. Attraction, revulsion, anger and happiness could all be examined as steps in his growing friendship with her. Though, he'd never felt threatened till now. That's twice in two nights he noticed that women had made him feel this way.

"You know the guy, Wesley Wyndam-Price?" He asked with Faith joined in at the end. Chorusing the Englishman's family name.

"Yeah, he was like my teacher back in my bad ol' days." She explained.

"When you were a raging psycho bitch?" Jacob asked gingerly. She had admitted to him about her violent past before, sans details. He quoted her own description herself then.

"Yep, and he was the guy that was supposed to reign me in." Faith snorted, clearly amused at the notion. "Poor bastard didn't know what hit him."

"Yeah, I bet." Jacob replied chuckling, sharing in her amusement. They sat in a semi-comfortable silence for a long while. Finally Faith began speaking.

"Listen, Buffy's freakin' out 'cuz she's legitimately scared for you. You've seen a world that's bigger then you could imagine and it excites you. You're a romantic, of course it would. I'm tellin' you right now, just knowin'? That's enough to get your guts ripped out." She paused and saw the debate brewing in Jacob's mind. "It doesn't matter what argument you got. That fact is ire-fuckin'-futable. You step in the dark with us? Man, if you live, you ain't comin' back the same."

"They said that they fought demons. You fight demons, Faith?" Jacob asked quietly sitting back deflating. He wasn't sure she heard him over the noise in the restaurant till she finally answered him.

"Fought a lotta things, kid." Faith said simply. She had another drink from her wine glass and grabbed the basket of calamari. "Can I kill this?" She asked Jacob. He made a dismissive gesture and Faith spooned a portion into Buffy's plate and the rest into her own. She ate in silence and Jacob nursed his glass of wine.

Eventually, from over Faith's shoulder, Jacob saw Buffy returning from outside. She looked more calm then before but she wore a pout heavily on her face. Some of the other diners gave her a quick glance as she walked past their table.

She sat down quietly and stared at her partially eaten food.

"I'm sorry. I overreacted." There was more despondency than apology in her voice. She looked up directing her pout to him. Jacob took the wine bottle and filled her glass to the brim, giving her an apologetic look.

"I didn't mean to raise my voice, sorry." Seldom one to be confrontational with his friends, Jacob meant it.

"We were talkin' about Wes and me back in the day." Faith explained, garnering a concerned look from her wife. Faith simply shrugged dismissively and Buffy relaxed, then even smiled a little.

"You gave him such a hard time." Reminiscence obvious on her face, the small blonde woman made a small laugh. Jacob saw her eyes hardened again when they rested on him. But then they turned so sad. "How much did they tell you?" Buffy asked him quietly, swirling a glass of wine.

"A little girl told me about people fighting demons. That magic is real. They told me that another one of them was a demon. She scared the shit out of me, I was a step away from pissing myself." Buffy and Faith traded glances hearing Jacob's summary of his previous night.

"What did she do to you?" Buffy's anger was almost equal to her concern. Jacob saw that and appreciated that, but he wanted to ensure she understood the situation clearly. That it was no one's fault. He was hesitant to recount his time in the bubble.

"She didn't do anything," He began. "I got trapped...in a ball. Like, a big blue ball. For like, a couple hours." Faith and Buffy leaned in, listening intently.

"Then another lady comes in later and figures it was these tablets that I was examining that did it." Jacob continued as the couple began to have small bites now and then. "I'm startin' to get all crazy in there until this girl starts talkin' to me in sign 'cuz I can't hear anything outside the ball I'm in." Buffy gulped her wine, her attention undivided.

"And she starts usin' signs I barely remembered." Jacob took two of his fingers, curved them like fangs and tapped the side of his neck. "Vampires." Then both thumbs pressed to his forehead two fingers pointed upwards from his hands. He bent them forward twice and explained "Demons." He shook his head in resigned disbelief.

"I finally get out. And then I get all incensed and demanding and shit. I felt like they owed me, you know?" Jacob frowned, wishing he was more professional and kept his cool. The couple chewed their food in silence and Jacob finished his wine.

"I think you guys are part of something thing that's kinda terrifying. But I got a feeling that it's something good too." Faith was looking at him impassively, as though waiting for him to finish speaking. Buffy was downcast again focusing on her food.

"It's not good. It's the opposite of good." She started quietly but her voice steadily grew louder and more panicked. "It's horrible and stupid and it keeps going forever until you die and it keeps on coming anyway." Buffy's voice turned shrill despite Faith attempting to quiet her. "It's Jaws and Friday XIII at the same time and I want you as far away from it as possible." Jacob saw Eugenio's mother frowning at their table near the hostess station. His own agitation was returning at Buffy's commanding tones.

"You don't get to make that decision, Buffy. You're not my mama nor are you my boss!" Jacob rebuffed her. They stared each other down, neither giving ground. Faith stayed silent scraping her plate for the rest of the delicious white sauce they used to cover the pork chop.

"It's gonna kill you, going down this way. I've seen it before. Young, smart, eager kids that think that they're helping fight the good fight." She sounded as though she was grieving. "The eager ones are dead. The smart ones high-tailed it." Buffy shook her head looking so sad.

"And the young ones?" Asked Jacob almost mockingly.

Buffy's brows knitted and answered looking at him as though he should have known."No one stays young forever, Jake." Jacob said nothing.

"I think we should take you home now." The blonde declared evenly. Jacob kept his gaze steely.

"Yeah, I think we're done with dinner." he agreed taking a cloth napkin and wiping tomato sauce from his hands ready to leave. He had no interest in arguing with Buffy. Signalling to the old woman that was their hostess over he asked for the bill.

Picture night was over.

They piled back into the minivan in silence. It was palpable on the short ride back. They parked in the Lehane's driveway and climbed out. They gave Jacob a goodnight though Buffy's was polite, it less friendly than Faith's. Agitated and parting ways with his neighbors Jacob stalked to his front door.

A text message buzzed in his pocket, as he unlocked the knob and entered as he checked his phone. The message read "Wes needs u 2 come 2 a work thing tomo." It was from Lynn. Walking up the stairs and to his bedroom he unloaded his keys and wallet. He thought a moment about what Faith said. Then what Buffy had practically ordered him. He sent a reply.

"Time place?" He received another text a short minute later.

"be at ur place by noon. business casual comfy shoes."

"should i bring tablet research?" The time in between the next message was long enough to peel out of his nice clothes and into his sleepwear of undershirt and cutoff jogging pants.

"ya c u tomo" Jacob didn't reply instead he slipped the phone into his pocket and went back downstairs to his computer. It woke from sleep to an open document. His name was spelled out in bold high atop word file. His circum vitae listed out his professional experience since his eighteenth birthday. That last line read "Novelist" next to the date.

He moved the cursor to where his most recent employment was written and hit enter several times on his keyboard. In the space made he typed lightly. His fingers danced as he hit the keys with practiced swiftness. The words read, in Times New Roman, "Demon Hunter" next to the current month and year. Jacob smiled. Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.


	7. Chapter 7

Time Frame: A decade after both BtVS & AtS finales.

Rating: T-Mature (cuz Faith still curses like a sailor)

This story contains several gay relationships, consider yourselves forewarned.

Pairings: as of the moment, only B/F, D/X and Wes/Ill are planned. More may eventually follow.

Final Note: This is my first fan-fic, reviews, beta reads and constructive criticism are all welcome.

Legalities: All B:TVS characters are that of the Mighty Whedon and his glorious intellect. This work is meant only in celebration and nothing ulterior.

* * *

Chapter 7

The sun rose over Rockefeller state-park. As light gradually brightened the forest, it spilled over to a small camp by a brook. There, a solitary tent stood by a heavy iron pot suspended over a small fire. Two metal stands were driven by the sides of the fire with crossbar running across the two allowing the pot to hang. Besides the cooking breakfast, a one eyed man sat upon a canvas folding chair.

His green and black flannel shirt, jeans and hiking boots gave him the full-on outdoorsy appearance. His large build and black eye-patch put an intimidating punctuation to his features. He ran his hand over his short dark hair giving a better look at the ornate eye tattooed a little above his wrist. The device he was hunched over was a stark contrast to the wilderness surrounding him.

A forefinger skimmed over the smaller model electronic tablet in his hands. Xander Harris pored over the updated plans for the second sub-basement level of the manor. Using his cellular phone as a wifi hot-spot, he downloaded the most recent iteration of the new manor's blueprints and suggested changes to the placements of some elements. A different angle for a camera here and there, another route for the wiring, anything to boost general efficiency for the new system.

He sent his final approval of the security plans after he saw that Faith and Andrew Wells had both sent their own approvals preemptively, allowing him the final say on the plans. Generally, critical projects like this at least two senior council members needed to send their okays for everyone to see on a Council-wide network. Everything was monitored and updated by Andrew and his staff. It ensured that council members and senior staff were kept in accurate communication with each other at all times. Updated data could be accessed on most recent plans and projects. Even information on active slayer missions could be found, depending on available access of course. It showed status, team rosters, which could then be used to bring up files of individuals listed if need be. It was also used to relay any necessary communique on the fly.

Xander grinned, suddenly reminiscing. Stupid Andrew's Big Board had really grown into a beautiful thing since its inception in the Summer's living room. It was such a critical system that all cellular devices issued by the council had The Big Board app installed to ensure a high level of coordination for The New Watcher's Council.

Xander used the interface to filter out regular security to leave only the magic security plans on the tablet screen. Having only a basic understanding of the spells and wards in place, he decided to only makes notes making sure mystical and electronic systems wouldn't interfere with each other but gave the necessary approval for Giles, Wesley or Willow to finalize.

Switching off the tablet and the smart phone he grabbed a ladle hanging next to the pot. He opened the pot lid to check the contents inside. A rustle from inside the tent let him know that his camping companion was waking up. The tent flap lifted and a small child came out rubbing sleep from his eyes. Xander's heart ached a little at the thought that little Nicholas Lehane looked so much like his parents. His nose and mouth were shaped like Faith's, but his eyes were narrow and always searching like Robin's. His skin tone was lighter than Robin's, more caramel to his dark chocolate complexion. His short black hair was thick and wavy.

"Mornin', big guy." Xander greeted him cheerily.

"Mornin', Uncle Xander." the child spoke rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He saw the fire and the cooking pot over it. "What's for breakfast?" he asked eagerly.

"Big ol' healthy helpin' of oatmeal!" the older man offered to his young ward enthusiastically. The child frowned at the lacking of selection.

"But we had bacon 'n eggs yesterday." was the still sleepy child's complaint.

"And we ate it all yesterday, Nicky." Xander explained patiently.

The boy sulked and sat next to Xander in a second chair besides the fire. He accepted a warm bowl with a polite but insincere thank you. They sat in an easy silence before Nicholas broke it.

"Uncle Xander, have you known my moms long?"

"I've know 'em since forever, big guy. Since high-school." the man answered with a nod. Memories flashed in his mind as he spoke.

"Did you know my dad?" Nicholas inquired hesitantly.

"Yeah, big guy. I knew your dad, we were even buds." Xander told him as his good eye met the gaze of the eager boy. He turned his eyes down to his food suddenly. Those eyes were so much like his father's, Xander thought.

"Mom doesn't like to talk about him. She gets real sad when she does." Nicholas admitted quietly. Xander paused eating and put a reassuring hand on the small boy's shoulder.

"Losing him was hard for her, big guy. Real hard." Xander hoped that the child did not notice the tremble in his voice. Memories of those times were still jarring for him. He wondered how Faith had managed to cope then. Oh yeah, he remembered, because of Buffy.

The small boy nodded though he only understood half of what his uncle meant. He toyed with the raisins in his oatmeal, moving the around his bowl. His spoon collected the black morsels as he slowly gathered his courage to ask another question. Xander, patiently waited knowing what would be asked next.

"Uncle Xander, how'd my dad die?"

"Your dad died a hero, kid." Xander was emphatic. "He died doing what he thought was the most important thing you could do, protecting people." The older man insisted. The words were enough for the child and he was silent a moment. Another question inevitably came.

"Mom still loves dad then?"

"Oh yeah, big guy. Your mom still loves your dad. That's why she gets sad when she talks about him."

"But she loves Buffy too?" The child asked.

"Sure, loving one person doesn't stop you from loving anyone else." Xander explained to the boy. "People got a lotta love to give. Your mom definitely loves your dad still even though he's gone and she loves you and Buffy too."

"Yeah, that makes sense." Nicholas accepted, nodding his head. "Are we goin' back home today?"

"Yep, takin' you to the new place your gramps bought first. There's gonna be a party there and your moms are gonna be there too."

"And Auntie Leery and Auntie Willow and Aunt Dawnie?" He asked excitedly.

"Blue's def going to be there, but your Auntie Will and Aunt Dawnie are still in Europe." The boy pouted, wanting to see his extended family.

"You pout like the Buffster, kid." Xander said with a smile. "You'll get to see your aunties soon, you know they can't stay away from you." the child grinned back. He may not have a dad anymore, Xander thought, but all the Scoobies did their best to help raise him. Their little village did everything they could to make sure that this child of so many legacies was raised right.

The pair finished their breakfast and started cleaning up camp in preparation for returning home. To those who might see them now, they would easily mistake them as a father and his son.

* * *

The forest road Wendy drove on had a single lane for both directions. Twice she had seen groups of about a dozen teen-aged girls jogging single file along the wide tree lined shoulder. Black shorts and white t-shirts were worn uniformly among them. Half a mile from her destination she saw someone carrying a deer carcass over their shoulder as they walked the shoulder. Wendy almost swerved off the road realizing it was small woman.

Eventually she reached the smaller road that led up to a large cast iron gate. A small guard station adjacent to the wide, gated entrance. Two pairs of obviously bored looking women manned two small structures built on either side of the reinforced gate. Several two ton trucks and vans exited the property as Wendy pulled up to the guard station on her side. They seemed young though they were dressed and armed appropriately. Brand-name combat boots had plain khaki fatigues tucked into them, their pistols were strapped to their chests and Aviator sunglasses for the bright summer day. Instead of matching tunics they worse fitted white graphic T-shirts with a large cartoon heart with a wooden stake through it emblazoned on the chest, beneath the red image was parchment with Latin written in curlicue. Wendy only recognized the word "nocte." Otherwise, they both slung shotguns over their shoulders, an easy reminder of their jobs. Wendy surmised that they were barely out of their teens. The older woman rolled down her window when one of them signaled her to.

"Can we help you ma'am?" Wendy was asked politely. The guards soft chin and small mouth made the realtor assume she was Asian and the closer vantage allowed Wendy to reinforce her assumption of her young age.

"I'm Wendy Carlisle, I'm here for the housewarming." Wendy announced and received a bright smile from young woman. The guard requested the her driver's license and passed it over to the second guard who went to the tall box of a guard station. Wendy could not see what was done to verify her identity but a short moment later the second guard emerged and handed the licence back with curt nod.

"The chief's here and waiting for you by the main offices. Just pull up to the house and they'll take care of you from there." The guard assured Wendy who drove past the gate and up the long winding drive way. On the short distance from the guard station to an eerily familiar scene.

When Wendy was first approached by Mr. Giles she was told that property was to be used as a supplement to an all-girls school in downtown Cleveland. But what she saw, the girls training in formation, the squads doing martial-arts forms by the perimeter, the quarter-staff drills being practiced, Wendy even spotted girls rappelling from one side of the high square tower on the north wing of the house, this was hardly a school. Wendy had been in enough military compounds to see one plainly. Except nearly everyone training on the grounds was female. The girls that were training were wearing the same black shorts and white shirt uniform of the ones she passed jogging on the road.

The construction crews that worked at renovating the house seemed also to be predominantly manned by incredibly young girls. On her cruise up the driveway she saw a clutch of teenagers wearing a typical laborer's clothes, heavy work gloves and hardhats with heavy yellow boots. Faces as dirty as their blue jeans were clearly seen under the summer sun. One even pantomimed hammering something in the air, as though talking shop to the others. For Wendy that seemed to reinforce the reality of these children doing construction work. The closer to the manor she drove, Wendy saw that most of the heavy machinery were driven by older girls, but none could have been older than twenty. And finally, Wendy had spotted a few men overseeing plans though they was always at least one woman in their midst. There were very few men visible anywhere else on the grounds.

As she pulled up to the end of the driveway four more girls who, Wendy guessed were also guards, stood milling around the entrance. They were armed similarly to the girls at the gate but instead of bored looks, they were all enthusiastically comparing their various knives with each other. The group saw Wendy's car approach and one broke away from the group to walk over, the rest tried to assume a semiprofessional air. The older woman exited from her car and waited for the guard not being sure what the protocol was.

"Ma'am, if you follow me, I'll take you to Mrs. Lehane. Your vehicle will be take care of." the younger woman offered. The remaining group of girls eyed the blonde realtor with interest as she fell in step behind the guard. She surrendered her car keys to one of the remaining women and was taken through the familiar foyer where she had met Mister Giles and Faith, she looked forward to seeing them again. Which was strange as she only looked forward to just one thing these days.

She was led down the hall where she saw men working at tasks of measuring and inspecting something or other. There were carpenters, electricians and laborers all busily passing them by. No greeting was given though they gave her guard polite nods. More rooms were passed down the long hall way and she saw more young women in the middle of sparring in makeshift training areas.

Wendy was finally taken to a sitting room with another door directly across from its entrance. There was little furnishing save a plush bench and a desk that was missing a chair. The wall as were also bare. Her escort leaned against the desk and began fiddling with a large knife. Neither had said a word to each other since the guard led her down the hall. Wendy shifted in her seat slightly uncomfortable but the young woman made no attempt to start conversation. After a few long minutes waiting the door opened another young girl poked her head out greeting the sole two occupants in the room. She had light brown skin and very curly black hair. She was dressed similarly to the other guards but was the youngest Wendy had seen so far but had no firearms. She spoke in an easy going manner to the other guard.

"You're good to go, Gina." the small girl said to the guard and received a quick nod in reply before turning and leaving the way she came. No parting words were bothered to be given. The the young girl at the door looked to Wendy.

"Mrs. Carlisle, Mrs. Lehane will see you now." the girl stepped out of the room and let Wendy in closing the door behind her. The room was small with only two large and plush chairs with a small table between them with a tea set ready for use. In the chair facing Wendy sat a blonde woman, her big eyes and small pert nose gave her an innocent appearance. Her hair was worn in a tight bun atop her head and she wore a gray pantsuit, which gave her a severe look. She seemed barely in her late twenties but carried herself with an almost defiant confidence. Wendy hesitated only a moment seeing her instead of Faith, the younger woman noticed despite.

"You seem surprised, Mrs. Carlisle." The woman said amicably.

"I'm sorry, I was expecting someone else. I was told I'd be meeting the security chief." the younger blonde gave an understanding smile.

"I'm sorry for the confusion, I guess one of the girls called me chief when they referred to me?" She saw the nod and continued speaking. "Sometimes they call me that." A slim arm was extended in formal greeting.

"I'm Buffy Lehane." They shook hands and Wendy approved the firmness of it. Too many women gave a limp shake. The realtor wondered her relation to Faith. They seemed stark opposites in every way so far.

"Wendy Carlisle, but you knew that." She was motioned to take a seat and did so. The chair was as comfortable as it looked. There was a niggling familiarity with this woman that Wendy felt, everything about her seemed as though Wendy had met her already.

"I'd like to be the first to officially welcome you here. We don't have a name for the property yet, but we got a lot of creative people working for us. I'm sure someone will think of something clever for it. So far the idea of starting a ballot and getting a box around to the girls for write-ins was brought up. But I think we have to vote on either a box or a bag first. And I think someone said something about decorations. Maybe we're over complicating things?" The babbling made a vapid impression, one that Wendy was hesitant to accept. She knew that there was substance to this woman, but could not find the reason for this conclusion.

"I'm sure something will come to mind." Wendy's smile was well timed. A flash in Buffy's eyes made Wendy's professional demeanor pause a moment. In the moment her own eyes met the younger woman's she felt uneasy. She felt like she was being sized up for a fight. And something else vaguely familiar, but was difficult to place.

Wendy pretended to cough, suddenly nervous.

"So what do you think of our little set up here?" Buffy's airy tone continued, she smiled as she spoke. The older woman did not speak immediately, she gathered her thoughts for a moment instead.

"It's definitely impressive, you're organization's done a great deal of work in a short amount of time." Wendy answered, matching the conversational tone the Buffy used.

"Yeah, that's for sure. You know this is the first time I've seen it myself, and my mind was shooting fireworks it was so blown." Buffy confessed, Wendy thought she saw sincerity there. "But really, Wendy, what do _you_ think of what were doing so here so far." The way she said "you" struck the older woman in the face like a silk glove, it was soft but it was instigating. Again, Wendy chose to give herself a moment before speaking.

"What I think, Mrs. Lehane? I'm not sure what to think, but I can tell you what I saw. I'm not sure how else to put it, but the equipment, the drills, the formations? That's not just any PT those girls are doing out there. I saw Scottish Special Forces tactics out there, I saw I.D.F. C.Q.C. drills. From what I saw it looks like to me is that you're training soldiers. And you're not coy about showing it." Wendy spoke no differently than she would when speaking about a listing. Faith was right about her, thought Buffy inwardly impressed.

"You're right, we are." The younger woman told Wendy. "And we'd like to know if you would be willing to help us."

"Why me?" Buffy thought she heard Wendy lamenting more than asking an actual question. The feeling the older woman had earlier, she felt it before. When she was followed by a tiger while on recon in Pakistan, it was like she was being stalked, examined whether she was worth the effort.

"Because we need people like you, Wendy. We need your experience and your expertise. We're not asking you to fight or to even lead, not if you don't want to. At the very most, we're asking you to teach. At the very least, to just watch." Buffy paused and saw hesitation in Wendy's face, she continued despite. "Most of our military liaisons have either heard of you or heard of your reputation and our own ex-military people say that if we want more girls to come home more times than not, we should talk to you."

"But why girls?" Wendy's question caught in her throat. The mother in her recoiled at the idea of these children as soldiers.

"Everyone of those girls outside was chosen for their potential." The younger woman explained, albeit cryptically. But the words were the right ones. They were words that made hackles raise and sent a soldier's heart singing.

"So the U.S. military is training teen-aged girls to fight in their wars?" Wendy was appalled at the notion, but she knew it was not true before even saying it.

"No, we have the government's support in a lot of things but we're an independent entity. Mostly we work internationally." The rehearsal in Buffy's words was evident, as though it was said so often it became reflex. Wendy was getting sick of the vagueness, things were almost coming together in her mind. She was on the edge of something and became frustrated not know what it was. Her chest became tight. Everything was so familiar but simultaneously unbelievable. She was being asked to help children wage wars on god knows who.

Wendy told herself she was sick of wars. She told her coworkers that, anytime the subject was brought up, sick of them. She assured her family she was tired of fighting, so tired of it. Of course she was lying. He blood screamed for her to find marching orders somewhere, asking why she hasn't done anything that made her heart race till it felt like it was going explode. Wendy was sick of wars and tired of fighting, she assured her family, though her hands flexed not being able to relax. Now, she was being offered another war to fight and if she was real lucky, it would be her final one. Almost like her dreams are coming true.

"Who are you fighting?" Wendy asked though knew the answer already. She could not ask the question that was really on her tongue. Because everyone knows monsters aren't real, a sane adult wouldn't even have to ask.

"Demons, vampires, sometimes people in league with them." Buffy didn't hesitate answering. Her gaze never broke with the now ashen Wendy. "Do you believe me?" The older woman nodded though seemed terrified to do so, as though she was admitting some dark guilt.

"Why?" The younger woman asked, genuinely curious.

"I've had dreams of them since I was a girl." Wendy vomited the confession as though it could no longer be kept inside her. "They have eyes like cats and long fangs. They want to eat me but..." Buffy leaned in, her interest in this woman became more intense. "they're more scared of me than I am of them." Wendy admitted, finally voicing her nightmares out loud. The first time ever in her life. Understanding crept over the Buffy's face hearing the tremble in Wendy's voice.

"We can help you with the dreams too, Wendy. In fact every single girl here can help you with them if you want them to." Their eyes locked and inside Wendy Carlisle, the effigy of the soldier cracked and broke apart. She finally let herself go and wept in to her hands. The hot tears fell like bodies from towers. Like smoke from fires, her emotions spewed outwards in plumes. Heaving chunks of her long built guard collapsed leaving only the woman weeping in front of a stranger who looked upon her with sorrow and sympathy. Her shoulders heaved as the first few blubbering sobs erupted. A tissue was offered and Wendy graciously accepted it, desperate to keep her composure. She blew her nose and folded the wad, keeping it in her hand. More tissues were used to wipe away the light streaks of makeup as She tried to collect herself. A small dainty hand took hers and she looked to up to eyes that seemed to change color in the light. Sometimes green sometimes hazel, they were tired but eager. Were they soldier's eyes? Not a soldier, but definitely a fighter . Wendy breathed in deep, her nose finally clear and looked away from the young woman.

"Are you okay?" Buffy asked with concern.

Wendy turned back to face her and tried to smile but the pain behind it was so obvious that when Buffy saw the woman's sorrow, she felt it in her chest.

"I was going to kill myself tomorrow." The woman confessed. The sad smile vanished into a second volley of deep and heavy sobbing.

Buffy's eyes went wide and lip quivered seeing the older woman break down completely and utterly. The younger woman got up and knelt in front of Wendy letting her cry into a firm shoulder, shedding her own quiet tears for this poor forgotten soul. We're going to take care of her, Buffy thought. She consoled the older woman with soft hushing words, telling her it was alright over and over.

* * *

Jacob grinned wide watching the impromptu cheer-leading diamond. Lynn grunted with effort as all three of her squad-mates balanced on her shoulders. Denise and Gina held on to Jessie's hands as their anchor who stood atop the tall blonde.

"How long can you keep that up?" He asked gleefully. They were on northeastern most corner of the perimeter wall far from the main building. Brick-red paint was worn away along with bits of the masonry and overgrown grass that went as tall as their knees in some places. A creeping ivy clung half way up a small section of the wall, patient in its travel.

A far distance away several construction crews dug deep large holes for some goal unknown to Jacob or the slayers. Though the girls identified several other slayers working the dig site. They explained to the young man that new slayers are given construction jobs during the summer. Most didn't mind as they received wages and worked with a lot of their friends. Also, the work for them wasn't that demanding and was finished at half the rate thanks to their strength.

Jacob had asked them to demonstrate some of their agility. Since he was going to be around helping he should at least have a good idea of what they were capable of, he reasoned. Only Gina seemed wary of the idea but relented after the three other girls pleaded with her endlessly, eager to show off. Jacob had decided he liked them all after a very short time, they reminded him of his boisterous cousins back in The Bronx. Last night he heard someone say that being near these girls would be horrible, how could that be true if these girls made him think of family?

"If Jessie keeps her balance maybe hours? But the way she's squirming up there I'd say five minutes." Lynn commented with another short grunt. Jessie seemed affronted.

"Hey I never had to support a slayer on each arm!" Was her strong defense. "Can we get down now? I feel like a sideshow." The smallest slayer whined.

"Oh, sorry, sorry! That's enough of a demonstration." With his words the three atop the tall freckled blonde released their holds on one another and landed in light crouches around her. Jacob wanted to see more and hoped he could watch other groups of girls training. He could barely keep in excitement in check, he was holding on just enough not to keep screaming in delight at the incredible feats of strength or giggling over phrases like _enchanted daggers_ and _teleportation rituals_ or _demon clan_. And they were bandied about like it was any other Thursday. Just another day at the office. His excitement was mounting and he was desperate to keep a calm and professional exterior.

He was picked up in the same sedan they arrived last time. They passed the long hour and a half ride with simple chatter of their homes and growing up. Lynn and Gina had met several times previously in school. Jessie and Denise were from Los Angeles though they did not know each other until they attended the school the others had also went to. Gina and Lynn were both graduates and Denise and Jessie were still taking classes. Jacob couldn't wait to see the academia behind their work, realizing that their innocuously named school had to be where they trained. It's mother-fuckin' Hogwarts, Jacob danced in his mind when he arrived to he manor. And he was right there in the middle of crazy mysticism central! His imagination raced with adjectives every time another paradigm of his old world fell away to reveal something new, something incredible. Instead, _awesome_ and _sweet _kept repeating over and over in his head. Another _awesome_ and Jacob was returned to the moment hearing his name being called behind him. He turned and saw Wesley striding towards them wearing a pale blue dress shirt with white slacks and brown loafers. His colors did him well in the tall green grass. The furrowing of his brows made him look upset.

"Mr. Turner! I'm glad I found you, I was hoping to speak to you a moment." he glanced around the tall young man and saw four loitering slayers. "And I am certain that these young women have things to do." Jacob heard them all quickly agree and scattered like rabbits in different directions, fearing a wrathful watcher. Jacob gave most of his attention to where Lynn headed. Wesley waited until the slayers had run a far enough distance then turned back to Jacob, looking up and down his lanky frame. White collared shirt and gray slacks went well with his black boots and belt. His black briefcase was slung over his shoulder, at the ready.

"I just received a yelling at by a tiny blonde about stealing babies and feeding them to my girlfriend. I was hoping you could give me some insight in this." The Englishman spoke bemusedly. Jacob made a confused face. "The small blonde is named Buffy." Wesley explained.

"Aw, shit. She's here?" Jacob's confusion gave way to a frustrated expression.

"Oh yes, Mr. Turner, she is most definitely here."

Jacob became quiet unsure how to explain the tension between him and his neighbors. He decided on direct honesty. "She doesn't want me working with you, she thinks it's too dangerous."

"Well, she isn't incorrect. How do you even know Buffy by the way?"

"I live across the street from them. Sometimes I watch their kid and eat their food." Understanding dawned onto Wesley, of course Buffy feels protective over this young man.

"My god." Wesley's mouth was agape after a more amusing realization. A wide smile flashed across the Englishman's face and Jacob became startled at the wide-eyed face he was making. "You're Jeopardy Jacob!" The Englishman loudly stated pointing a finger at Jacob.

"I'm what?" Asked Jacob, clearly lost.

"You're the one that introduced Jeopardy to Faith and Buffy." The tall younger man failed to understand Wesley's impressed look. He got a gay couple to watch a quiz show, so what? "Did you know that sometimes they give me answers in the forms of questions?" Wesley studied Jacob a moment and finally saw where Jacob's mind was. He smiled warmly. If he only knew, the watcher thought.

"Faith Lehane watches Jeopardy with her neighbors." Wesley spoke each word carefully to help create the image in his mind. Failing, he shook his head and looked at the tall younger man with a little bit of awe. The British upper lip prevented Wesley from outright hugging Jacob with fervor but allowed a short nod of respect instead. A sigh escaped the older man's lips. Wesley had come to a decision right then. He would deal with whatever headaches or screaming matches that would come with it. He just hoped that his faith was not misplaced. Jacob's face remained fixed in a confused expression.

"Mr. Turner, I think you would be interested in meeting the school's headmaster. Follow me please." Without waiting for an answer, Wesley turned and began to trek across the large lawn. Jacob made no hesitation and followed the Englishman towards the old manor. As the summer sun climbed high, the deep shadow of the old building loomed over the two men.

* * *

Illyria sat on an ottoman, the green upholstery matched the rest of the other chairs in the room. She was still, almost statuesque. Save her open eyes, one could have mistaken her for being asleep. Everything in her surrounding indicated an office that was newly established. Spacious but not boastful, it was large enough for a desk, a tall bureau and two chairs facing the desk with the currently occupied ottoman between them. The walls were lined with bookcases but one section was reserved for a well stocked and maintained weapons rack. Behind the desk-chair was a wide arching window that looked down on to the rear of the manor, the room was positioned in the tower over the north wing of the manor. It allowed an impressive view of the forest treeline a few hundred yards past the property walls.

She had been waiting for well over an hour and was content to do so. Quiet became a commodity living among so many humans. Though she kept a constant ear for one certain heartbeat on the grounds, the demon-king appreciated any moment of peace she could eek out while assisting the council. She recognized the shadowmen's current incarnation as worthy and so she grace them with her presence. Also, her high-priest would be greatly affected by any direct confrontation she may have with them. So for now, she honors his wishes. She would help mold this rough structure into a mighty house and may even stoop to conquer it for herself one day. Slayers would make the finest army this plane of existence would ever see. With the witches and watchers supporting them and her leading them all, it would be a force nearly matching her former armies. They could easily march across this universe and own it in just handfuls of centuries. With a slayer army behind her, the first step in her goal of never dying and conquering all in her sight would be easily achievable. But for now Illyria was content to sit and wait.

The door finally opened and a tall middle-aged black man entered with a thick folder of clip-bound documents. He was bald and well built but dressed like an office worker though he wore old construction boots instead of dress shoes and his purple tie hung lose around his neck. The demon stood and was greeted warmly.

"Hey, long time, Blue!" He threw the folder unceremoniously on top of the desk and gave the petite blue god-king a big hug. She returned it, though awkwardly.

"Gunn." Was her greeting, the large man's face split into a smile and sat in one of the empty chairs in front of his desk.

"When'd you get here?" He looked up at the demon, she remained standing while the spoke.

"Two hours and thirteen minutes ago. Wesley and I arrived together though I allowed him to depart so he could see to his duties. I visited the kitchen where I deposited roughly ten gallons of guacamole and fifteen gallons of salsa. I then oversaw a portion of the food preparations and deemed it satisfactory. Then I came here to wait for you."

Gunn stretched in the chair as he listened to Illyria. His jet lag was compounded by having had to sleep in a small cot in this office. In fact, his current sleeping quarters where tucked away in the room's coat closet. He was here from Los Angeles to manage the manor until the position was filled permanently. He was hoping it would be soon, the native Californian was loathe to experience a winter by the Great Lakes. Those English boys can have all the cold weather and fog they can breathe, he'd already judged the Cleveland summer a smidge too cool for his liking. But for the good of The Council, he did his best to follow instructions and walk tall while doing so. His new responsibilities were more than a little overwhelming but hearing Illyria speak relaxed him. It brought him back to older times. It was also comforting to hear she was still cooking, he would have to ask for a batch of tamales later.

"Sorry for the wait, today's been like Jack Nicholson in The Shining." Charles Gunn yawned. He saw Illyria tilt her head slightly. He'd been around the demon long enough to know it was an indication of confusion. "It was crazy." He explained further, a small nod indicated her understanding. Gunn raised his hands indicating the office and smiled with pride at Illyria.

"How do you like my little island in an ocean of super estrogen?" Like any man would, he marked his territory. The weapons cabinet looked almost same in the Hyperion Hotel, recalled Illyria. Other mementos dotted the room, framed pictures of smiling faces and small nick-nacks. A call bell sat in between legal books and a larger picture of an art-deco style building hung behind the desk.

"The aesthetics are agreeable." Illyria decreed and Gunn took it as mighty praise. Wesley was doing good work acclimating her to society.

"I suggested you for a teaching position here. I thought that it would play to your natural leadership abilities well." The man's face twisted in confusion as his relaxed posture became to a tense one.

"Teaching? Now who's breakin' down bathroom doors with axes?" Illyria's lack of response reminded Gunn of her limited media exposure. "Man, Wes really needs to get you watch the important stuff."

"You are inferring I am crazy now." the demon deduced.

"Yes! I got enough on my plate as is! Finding an assistant, meetings with county people 'cuz no one knows the actual size of the property in the woods." He sounded tired but resolved. "Electronic security plans were _just_ finalized by Xander today, so I gotta get that to the elctricians and hopefully magical systems will be finalized by yo' boy or any one with high enough mojo clearance. And I gotta go over paperwork on two new possible hires."_  
_

"One of them is definite." Illyria continued. "He has ties to Buffy and she disagrees with the decision of hiring him. The other possibly has post traumatic stress but has a great deal of combat experience." Gunn's ears perked up with interest.

"How recent is all this info?" The lawyer asked, surprised at the level of interest Illyria was giving this.

"In regards to the first possible hire, I have met and vouched for him personally. He is young and arrogant enough not to be afraid of the invitation, but he is intelligent and is well trained in the classics. Buffy's has grown protective of him because of his agreeable influence on her wife. She recently confronted Wesley about it in the hallway. She accused me of wanting eat children."

"Damn, Leery. You bein' nosy again?" Gunn grinned at her knowingly. He was glad to know that an almighty god-king was not above office gossip.

"Dropping eaves is not necessary when a person is yelling, Charles." A slight upturn of her mouth made Gunn smile wider. Wes was doing great work with her, he thought.

"Angel says 'Hi' and that all your plants are taken care of in the courtyard. Spike's been MIA since his last council job, Isle of White was the last place he checked in from. Captain Broody's getting anxious and he's taking it out on the girls during training. He gets to pound on people, slayers get to fight an old vampire, everyone's happy." In the tiniest of twitches in Illyria's face and tensing only in the slightest, Gunn saw the concern. "There's another team on his tail and they say he's just being dramatic again." The lawyer assured her and she looked away, into the window.

"It is good that you are here, a familiar comrade always the fight more enjoyable."

"So..." he stretched the 'o' out as he sank back into the plush chair. "How are you and Wes doin'?" His tone held all the qualities of a girlfriend wanting to dish. "Is the ol' high-priest worshipin' his god-king right?"

"We are..." She sat finally and rested her chin on her palm, thoughtfully she finished. "I think we are well. I believe your advice of finding a hobby has helped things greatly. You were correct about my need to focus on something else." Gunn beamed with pride having helped his closest friends.

"Damn right, I was right! Tell me somethin' I don't know." He laughed.

"I have added fellatio to my conjugal activities with Wesley." Illyria admitted. The tall black man's laugh was replaced by an open mouthed speechlessness. "It helps demonstrate my positive emotions for him." English was doing damn fine work with her, Gunn thought.

"Wesley Wyndam-Price is a lucky man." Gunn surmised out loud.

"It is not luck, his actions earn my approval and thus my appreciation. Only the worthy shall know my grace." was The Old One's sage wisdom. Gunn could only nod in understanding. He checked his cell phone for the time. A plan for what to wear to the housewarming formed in his head, he'd just have to shower and change. He looked over the the blue demon before him. The large chair dwarfed her frame and her summer picnic attire was a maddening contrast to her true nature. But that's just Thursday, thought the lawyer. Another though occurred.

"You wanna do the thing at the party tonight?" Gunn suggested to the god-king. She rolled her eyes and gave a small huff.

"No." Was Illyria's stern reply.

"English would be down to join!" Gunn debated.

"I do not want to. It is demeaning." Illyria reiterated. The tall black man stood up, throwing his hands up in the air.

"Come on! It was a hit when we did it for the girls back home." He suggested encouragingly. "You were a hit." Was Gunn's last gentle push. The Old One's eyes studied Charles Gunn a long quiet moment.

"The half-breeds are not here to do back-up." Illyria pointed out, Gunn knew he had her then.

"Giles can do it, I've heard him doin' it today walkin' around. It's why I thought of us doin' it in the first place."

"You would feed him your poison until his inhibitions are dulled." Illyria realized. Her eyes narrowed dangerously at Gunn, she did not like being manipulated. The lawyer sat back down, smirking victoriously. The demon had devoured the newborns of her enemies for so much less, but the insult was greatly assuaged by his skillful maneuvering of her ego. So many around her did nothing but disappoint, it was refreshing to be impressed.

"I only want you to do it 'cuz you honestly did great last time. And it's nice to do somethin' with you and English again." The man spoke words earnestly and the demon acknowledged her allies words.

"I will do it." Illyria declared. Acquiescence was not defeat, she rationalized. Compromise can be social investment. "Who said I was a hit?" she asked the smiling lawyer.

* * *

Jacob was tired. Up flights of steps, down long corridors, through old dusty passages, Jacob was lost. He followed Wesley dutifully but his bearings became useless while trying his best to tail the swift Englishman. The manor had three wings, two basements and a tower, from what he was told by tiny Jessie. It felt like he might have been taken through all of them. He was barely keeping pace with the older man. Either he's in a rush or he's trying to lose me, Jacob thought wryly. He clutched his briefcase becoming suddenly nervous.

They had long ago left behind the busy populace of the building and entered a someplace almost too quiet. Especially after the bustle of activity surrounding him only minutes ago. No more workers, no more girls, just white sheets draped over furniture like ghosts. Ghosts and him chasing a brit down a musty old house to find out about a possible job. The walls echoed as their heavy footfalls sounded their strides.

Finally passing room after room after room, they quick-stepped it to a hallway illuminated by the large arching window at the end. A solitary basket plant occupied a corner, which was adjacent to a door. Wesley paused and stood before it a long moment, Jacob took the opportunity to catch his breath. He also noticed that Wesley was barely winded.

The Englishman gave the door two sturdy knocks and waited, Jacob stood silently Besides him. They had not said a word since the younger man began his trek through the manor with Wesley at the lead. The young man's nerves got the better of him. His breathing became deep and his eye widened and narrowed according to this breaths. The muffled sounds of movement came through the door. Jacob was now inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth as quietly as possible. Wesley raised his hand to the door and gave it two sturdy knocks. A voice from within bade them to enter and the Englishman opened the door wide for him and Jacob to enter.

The room was not so large that it felt spacious but it was not so small that it felt cramped. Bookcases covered a majority of the walls save a weapons cabinet. A pair of large plush chairs stood before a large desk which was manned by a large middle-aged man. He was maybe in his thirties, built like a quarterback and his skin was the color of milk chocolate.

"Mr. Turner, I would like you to introduce you to Charles Gunn, this school's headmaster.

Standing up with a smile, he rounded his desk and extended his hand out to a smiling Wesley who grabbed the forearm and tugged it into him to give a sturdy hug to the taller man. Both men's unabashed affection made Joacb assume they were good friends. They came out of the embrace with still smiling.

"English! It's good to see you, man. The stuff they got me doin' here is crazy. And I don't see you and yo' girl for years and her greeting present to me is signin' me up to teach classes without askin'." He spoke with familiarity and warmth. Jacob noticed the continued use of street vernacular.

"Bit of a slave driver that one. I do believe that she is projecting her army of doom on us." A broad smile and tone matched the headmaster's friendliness. The Englishman turned to Jacob who stood there allowing the two their small reunion. "But business at hand, if you will. Charles, this is Jacob Turner."

The young man had an inch over Gunn in height, but lacked his muscular bulk. Jacob became suddenly nervous at the quick inspection by the headmaster. "Pleased to meet you." the young writer offered his hand in greeting. It was shook by the bigger man and Jacob and Wesley were offered seats.

"Likewise." the headmasters replied. They took it as Gunn went back his place behind the desk. He pulled out a Manila folder from the floor by his desk. He studied it for a moment letting him and Wesley sit in silence for a few long moments. His eyes eventually returned to Jacob.

"Mr. Turner, the situation I read about on your incident the other night has me wondering why you're even here. Anyone with a head on his shoulders would have run as far away from us as possible. But you're here in front of me hoping to join Us." The headmaster paused a moment to study Jacob. "I'd like to know why."

Jacob thought about fear. He remembered being trapped in that blue ball for almost three hours how his mind nearly went haywire from what had happened to him. Then his mind went to the demon Illyria, how she had parroted the words of the witch, Amy and even Wesley before Illyria's praise. The simple possession of knowledge of a vastly darker part of the world could devour him, wasn't something he easily dismissed. But there was something else driving him to continue.

"In the last forty-eight hours I have seen things, Mr. Gunn. Things that should be impossible, that break natural laws. I've met demons and witches. I've seen magic right in front of my eyes. I've been shown a world that's only spoken about in books." The young man shook as though trying to rid himself of any leftover doubt. "How's someone supposed to turn away from that? And I'm not saying I'm not scared, Mr. Gunn. Illyria made sure of that. But I grew up in a place where if crackheads didn't get you, a bullet still might. I knew kids who stayed away from bangers and crooks all their lives only to get caught-up in the crossfire anyway. Being scared isn't new to me." A mirthless smile splayed over Gunn's face and Jacob saw a small sad smile made by Wesley.

"We got six openings for research positions, Mr. Turner. Would you like to know those spots were vacated?" The headmaster asked Jacob, who blinked as he thought.

"They were killed." Jacob realized out loud.

"More like shredded into ribbons." Wesley corrected softly.

"The slayer on that team managed to kill the offending demon with a Molotov cocktail while holding her guts in with her hands." Jacob shuddered as Gunn piled more facts on. "She had to burn her whole base of operations down to make sure the thing was dead. You wanna see the footage of it in action?" The younger man shook his head, generally having no interest in gore at all. "The thing is though, we need people like you. We need smart, educated people to do smart, educated things. But we need you to know that even in a lab, in a library, working with us lowers your life expectancy by, like, a lot."

The honesty was jarring. Jacob's enthusiasm diminished, nearly entirely. His curiosity did not, it remained burning strong in the back of mind. Since birth, he's always had an incredibly strong intellect and like most intelligent people, he also possessed an equally powerful curiosity. After all, merits and flaws came hand in hand. Reading Fredrick Douglas, Jacob learned that the pursuit of knowledge could bring misery and his mother always told him that his big brain could get him into trouble one day. Was this what she meant? He inwardly apologized to his mom for what he said next.

"I'd rather die educated. I'd rather die helping. I'd rather die on my feet tryin', not on my back waitin'." He declared to the two men in the room. They had taken his measure then and they did not find him wanting.

"Well, Mr. Turner, I think that's everything I needed to hear." The headmaster looked over to Wesley. "Was there anything you wanted to add?" The Englishman stayed quiet a moment, as though he was thinking. Finally he spoke looking directly at Jacob.

"Welcome to The New Watcher's Council, Mr. Turner."

* * *

A/N: big-ups for Ryoko05 for letting me dissect your opinions on Jacob and Wendy.


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